


Demon Blood

by Yami_Faerie



Series: Demon Blood 'verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canonical Character Death, Demons, Episode: s01e22 Devil's Trap, Gen, Kidnapping, Sam Winchester on Demon Blood, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Sam Winchester's Visions, Sam is Missing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 13:57:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 40,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6242104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yami_Faerie/pseuds/Yami_Faerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU from end of "Devil's Trap", spoilers for seasons 1-5. Azazel kidnaps Sam and forces him to drink demon blood, giving him an advantage over the other special children. How will this singular act affect the oncoming Apocalypse?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kidnapped

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the first big story of "Demon Blood 'verse"! You are in for a wild ride. We begin in the cabin at the end of 1.22 "Devil's Trap" when Sam and Dean realize their father has been possessed by the Yellow-Eyed Demon. But things quickly take a sharp turn into the realm of AU. Enjoy!

Azazel was very patient. He had to be, in order to ensure his long game played out right. There was so much depending on him and whichever child proved to be the strongest, and he would see it through, whatever it took. However, watching from within John Winchester's body as Sam struggled with using the Colt to kill both John and Azazel, he found he couldn't help but feel a twinge of impatience. He had put out the order to have Sam's girlfriend killed so Sam could go back to hunting and strengthen up his skills, but what good was he if he couldn't kill whoever was necessary?

Enough was enough. No demon had ever jumped ship just to head straight into another host due to how exhausting it was just to leave the one you were in, but Azazel thought this was the night to change that. As he made to leave John's body, he whispered into his mind, "My name is Azazel, and I'm taking Sam away. Tonight."

He gathered his strength long enough to catch the beginning of John's horrified reaction to his pronouncement, and then he leapt.

* * *

Sam felt a sort of empty relief as the Yellow-Eyed Demon stopped possessing John, the Colt still clutched in his hand. He knew that the moment his dad was able, he was going to get a proper tongue-lashing for "being weak" and not taking the shot, but for now, it was more important to him that Dean and his dad were still alive to fight another day. He waited silently for the black smoke that was the Demon to zoom off, and felt a twinge of worry when it didn't.

"Dean," he whispered without thinking before meeting his father's eyes and seeing a horrified expression in their depths.

"Sam," John whispered hoarsely, "run. Sam, run now."

Sam looked back up at the Demon and backed away until his back hit the wall behind him. "Dean," he said again, hand tightening uselessly on the Colt's handle.

"Sam?" he heard his brother whisper, but it was too late.

The Demon swooped at him, and then Sam knew nothing but pain. He thought he might be screaming, but he wasn't sure of anything, anymore. And then it was over.

* * *

Dean hurt everywhere, his chest in particular, but the moment the Yellow-Eyed Demon shot into Sam, he found his pain didn't matter so much, anymore. "Sam!" he yelled, struggling to sit up despite his injuries. "NO!"

The Demon poured into Sam's mouth, and Sam was screaming, his right hand still holding the Colt with a white-knuckled grip. And then it was over, and Sam's body slumped to the ground, his back still against the wall.

"Dean," John gasped out from the middle of the floor, "don't move."

"Dad, it's Sam, I can't just sit here!" Dean argued, despite knowing how weak and useless he was at the moment.

And then Sam groaned. Dean stared at his brother, wondering if the Demon was already in control or not. He had never seen a demon jump from one body into another, and the fact that this one had done so scared him more than he'd like to admit. "Sam…"

"Wow," said Sam, "I've never done anything like that before." He slowly rolled his head back against the wall before opening his eyes. They were yellow.

"Azazel," John whispered weakly. "Please, leave him alone. Just go."

"Azazel?" Dean asked blankly before realizing his dad must have learned the Yellow-Eyed Demon's name.

"Everything has a name, Dean," said Azazel, shrugging Sam's shoulders before letting out another groan and closing Sam's eyes again. "Including me. Damn, that was exhausting."

Dean felt a surge of anger. "You fucking bastard," he growled, "get the hell out of Sam right now!"

Sam's face broke into a wicked-looking grin, though his eyes were still closed. "Of course," Azazel said, voice dripping with sarcasm, but then Sam's hazel eyes shot open and he screamed again, lurching forward onto his hands and knees.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, struggling to move to his brother as his body heaved and he retched. John was sitting up now, watching his youngest with the saddest look in his eyes, something Dean hadn't seen the since the night Mary had died.

"Dean," Sam gasped out, raising his head and meeting Dean's eyes with his own normal-colored ones. "Oh God, get him out…" He raised his left hand to his head, staring helplessly at Dean before his mouth opened.

"Normally," Azazel said, and Sam's eyes widened in shock, "I wouldn't have done it at all. None of my special children are to be touched like this by any demon, myself included. Sammy, here, however, is by far my favorite, but he's clearly not as strong being out on the road with you as I had thought he'd be. Can't even kill his own father to stop me once and for all." He shook Sam's head, the movement disconcerting against the abject horror in Sam's eyes.

"Dean, help me," Sam whispered, looking around in a panic as his body resettled against the wall. Dean had never seen a possession like this before, and it disturbed him more than anything he'd ever witnessed in his entire life.

"Special children?" John asked, struggling to sit up.

"The one's I visited when they were six months old," Azazel said as Sam closed his eyes briefly. "Funny thing is, not all of them had house fires involved, because not every mother interrupted me when I came to visit."

Dean's eyes widened. How many of these kids were there?

"Why is Sam your favorite?" came his dad's voice, and he looked up at Sam once more.

Azazel shifted into a slightly more comfortable-looking position and grinned again, still holding the Colt in Sam's right hand. "Well, it's actually all because of Dean," he said, and Dean felt his breath catch as Sam's wide eyes met his. What on earth had he done? "Can't say I've ever told anyone about this before, but some angels sent your eldest back in time to try and stop me or something." He shrugged. "Not that it did any good. In fact, all he accomplished was drawing my attention to this family. John, the mechanic who served in the Marines, and Mary, the daughter of a Hunter."

"What?" Dean said, mouth dry.

"Oh, this is one of my favorite stories," Azazel said, and Sam looked beyond horrified. "Dean here turns up out of nowhere, interrupting me in the middle of one of my deals. So, I jumped ship and chose to take Grandpa Samuel's meat suit, which led to Dean telling me that he was the son of John and Mary Winchester, that angel's had brought him back in time, and that he was trying to stop _me_ from carrying out my plans. Upon realizing he wasn't one of mine, I thought that I must have come after a younger sibling of his, and judging by his intense reaction, I knew I must have found the best of my potential children." Azazel resettled Sam's body once more. "So, I broke John's neck and told Mary I could bring him back if she made a simple deal to allow me access to her home in ten years. She made the deal, and now I think I've found the one who'll carry out my plans."

Dean stared at Sam, trying to comprehend what he was hearing. "What did you do to Sam that night?" he asked quietly.

Azazel grinned and slowly heaved Sam's body to its feet. "Fed him demon blood," he said, and Dean felt his heart stop. Sam's eyes widened and his breathing picked up for a few moments. "It's better than mother's milk," Azazel continued, "makes a child strong, healthy, and everything that I'll need when I advance my plans." He stretched Sam's arms over his head and actually yawned. "Anyway, I think that's enough talking from me." He lowered Sam's arms and stared at the Colt, every trace of Sam gone from his eyes once more. "I'll be keeping this," he told John, "and the body here, too. You two take care."

Dean could do nothing but watch as Azazel walked out, taking the Colt, and Sam's body, with him.

* * *

John closed his eyes and dropped his head into his hands as he waited for Bobby Singer to show up in his tow truck. Neither he nor Dean were in any condition to drive, and Sam…

It was never supposed to go like this, he thought to himself, considering everything he had never told either of his sons. He had discovered a massacre that had taken place at a convent in Maryland back in 1972, and had arrived at the abandoned site, unsure as to what he'd find.

When he realized the plan, he had been beyond horrified. Discovering that the Colt was missing three weeks later only added to the growing pile of shit he had to stop. Now there was no Sam and no Colt, and Dean was looking as though he was barely holding it together.

"You still breathing okay?" John asked gruffly.

"Yeah," Dean said softly, pulling his leather jacket a little tighter around his frame.

Two hours later, Bobby pulled up in front of the Impala. The engine shut off and he climbed out, striding toward John and looking around. John felt a twinge of guilt for not telling Bobby that Sam was missing, but suppressed it as Bobby reached Dean's side.

"Hey there, Dean," Bobby said. "Let's get you in the truck, okay?"

Dean nodded silently and John watched as Bobby helped his eldest son into the tow truck. Finally, Bobby turned to face John. "Where's Sam?" he demanded. "I thought you said you were all here, but injured."

"We are," John said, "just…" He sighed and slowly heaved himself to his feet. "Sam was taken," he finally admitted, "by the Demon Azazel. And he took the Colt with him."

Bobby stared at John in complete silence for so long that John actually started to feel more worried than he already was.

"You let your son get taken by the demon you've been hunting the last 23 years," Bobby said flatly.

John sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "The Demon had me, first," he said, "and he tried to rip out Dean's heart, and I told Sam, just shoot me, use the damn gun, but he wouldn't, and then the Demon told me its name and jumped from me into Sam."

"Jesus!" Bobby swore, turning away to the Impala and ripping off his hat, revealing his balding head. "John, how the hell did all this happen?"

John rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Bobby, can we get Dean to a hospital and the Impala to your yard first? It's a really long story and we really need a chance to recover before figuring out our next move."

Bobby turned to John again. "I've told you before and I'll say it again, John. You are not the father these boys need."

John felt his expression harden, and he fought the instinct to shout and maybe even deck Bobby a new one.

Bobby glared at John. "Shoulda brought my damn buckshot," he muttered, turning away and heading to the Impala. John watched him before sighing and easing onto his feet to make the short trek into the tow truck and carefully seating himself beside Dean.

Dean was dozing slightly, but he opened his glazed-over eyes and stared into John's own. "We gonna save Sam?" he asked, voice slurring slightly.

John felt like screaming, swearing, crying, even giving up, but he was the one who had cultivated Dean's protective instinct in Sam, and he wasn't going to deny him the urge to save his little brother now, even if it meant that one of them might have to pull the trigger and end Sam's life in order to save him.

It wasn't a comforting thought.

"Yeah," John finally said, gently clasping Dean's shoulder. "We're gonna save Sam, I promise you."

"Good," said Dean, his glassy eyes sliding closed.


	2. Blood

Sam rose slowly to consciousness, slowly because of remembered pain and remembered words. He really didn't want to go back to that.

But eventually he found he had no choice as he settled into the feeling of aching limbs and a dry, sore throat. He let out an involuntary groan and slowly cracked his eyes open.

A moment after Sam opened his eyes, he shut them again with another groan. _Shit._

"Oh, Sam," said Azazel from somewhere in front of him, "is that any way to greet your guidance counselor?"

"I don't —" Sam managed before starting to cough, his throat just too dry to support words. He heard Azazel sigh, and then something touched his lips. He flinched.

"Easy, son," said Azazel, his voice uncharacteristically gentle, "it's just water."

Sam cracked open his eyes again and glared at the demon before him. He seemed to have taken the body of a skinny, white janitor now, and in his hand was a simple glass of what looked to be water. A part of him didn't want to drink it, fearing that it might be something else, maybe even drugged, but his throat was so dry that he finally parted his lips and allowed Azazel to help him take several small sips. After all, it wasn't like he could do it himself, given his arms and legs were strapped to a chair in a small room with only one door and no windows.

"Now then," Azazel said once Sam had drained the glass of water, "what were you about to say?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "I don't want a guidance counselor," he said. "Let me go."

Azazel clucked his tongue in mock sympathy. "And that's why you can't move right now," he said, settling into a chair opposite Sam. "I'm afraid I can't trust you to stay put properly just yet, and I'd rather avoid things like pain and torture."

Sam couldn't help the hoarse chuckle that escaped him. "Too late for that," he said. "I fuckin' feel like hell and it wasn't me that caused it."

Azazel grinned. "Always the stubborn one," he said, "all that sarcasm and anger, Sam, it's actually very useful in the long run."

Sam frowned in confusion. "What's that supposed mean?" he asked, but Azazel started to chuckle.

"I've already given too much away," he said, "and I gave it to the one person who could figure it all out." Sam continued to frown, so Azazel added, "Your pops, son."

Sam knew his dad was very smart, but he wondered what on earth his dad could conclude from what little the demon had said. Seals? Demon blood? And then his brain caught up to the last thing Azazel had said the last time he'd been conscious.

"You fed me demon blood?" he asked, and Azazel's smile faded.

"Remembered that, did you?" he said, leaning back in his seat, and Sam nodded. "Yes, I did, the night you were exactly six months old. It's a shame your mother walked in when she did, but she remembered me and she would've tried to stop me." He shrugged nonchalantly. "I really couldn't have that, so she had to die. I imagine you don't like hearing that, but it is what it is."

The demon was right: Sam didn't like hearing it at all. It was because of Azazel that he was a freak, that his mother was dead, his father a hunter first and dad second, and his brother a hunter and all-over dad-worshiper. His life was fucked up because of the demon before him, but all he could do was glare silently.

Azazel pursed his lips. "You know something?"

Sam didn't answer, and Azazel smiled slightly before continuing. "When you give a child demon's blood, it actually cultivates the body for a future addiction, kinda like alcohol when a woman's pregnant."

"Addiction?" Sam said without thinking. "That's impossible, I've never wanted to try blood of any kind."

"That's because you forget it's there," Azazel said. "It's a dormant thing, but it's there as sure as I'm sitting here before you. All you need is one little taste, and then you're hooked." Azazel leaned forward and stared into Sam's eyes, his own yellow ones bright with something that looked scarily like excitement. "For life."

Sam felt the panic rise as Azazel pulled out a knife from his jacket and stood. "Normally," he told Sam, twirling the knife around in one hand, "I would have waited until after the gates were opened, but if I do this now, then I can be rest assured of your loyalty, however unwanted." He dragged the knife across the palm of one hand and watched the blood start to ooze from the wound.

"Don't do this," Sam pleaded, "I'm not what you think I am, please, just let me go and find someone else to be your chosen one!"

Azazel grinned as two burly men entered the room. "Hold him down," he told them, "he's going to be stubborn about this for now. Don't worry, though," he added, returning his yellow gaze to Sam, "soon you'll be much more accepting of your fate. I promise."

* * *

Dean came to and tried to sit up, only to find he was lacking the strength. His eyes darted around, taking in the crisp sheets and white walls surrounding him. Then he spotted his dad as he walked into what Dean knew now to be a hospital room. "Dad?" he croaked.

"Dean, you're awake," John said, sounding relieved as he pressed the call button for the nurse and snagged a nearby glass of water. "Thirsty?"

Dean nodded and allowed John to help him take a few sips to soothe his parched throat. "Thanks," he muttered, slumping back into his pillows. "How long?"

"Two days," John said, taking the nearest seat as a petite blonde nurse entered the room.

"Oh, good, you're awake," she said brightly, snagging the clipboard from the end of his bed and looking over at the equipment that was monitoring his heart and blood pressure. "Looking good, if a little weak," she muttered before asking Dean a series of questions regarding how he was feeling. He answered as best he could, mind drifting as he suddenly realized that Sam wasn't in the room. Where was he?

"Okay, I'll go get Dr. Jones," said the nurse, "he should be in here in just a few minutes."

"Great, thanks," John said with an exhausted smile as the nurse left the room.

There was a long moment of silence as Dean frantically searched his memories. Where was his little brother? Sam was always there, no matter what had happened yesterday, so why not now?

And then he remembered. The Yellow-Eyed Demon, Azazel, had possessed his brother and taken off with the Colt. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, remembering how the bastard had spoken through Sam's mouth while his little brother had stared at him in abject horror at the situation, at the things Azazel had said.

Demon blood. That fucking bastard had given Sam demon blood all those years ago, causing the visions of the last few months, maybe even all the nightmares and restless nights he had suffered his entire life since that fateful night.

"Dean?" John asked, and Dean opened his eyes to stare at his dad. John was a wreck, with bloodshot eyes and unkempt hair and clothes. "Do you remember?"

Dean nodded slowly. "Why are you here?" he asked. "I would've thought you would've gone after that demonic bastard by now."

John sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I can't do this without you, son," he said. "This entire situation is completely uncharacteristic of Azazel. I've found other kids like Sam, but none of them have had any influence by the demon at all. No possessing, no supernatural activity. It's like they're supposed to live normal lives until Azazel moves his plans forward."

"We've never had normal," Dean said, and John smiled slightly.

"That could be another reason why he likes Sammy so much," he said sadly. "I wish I could have protected him better."

"Hey," Dean said, despite feeling the same way, "none of us knew that any of this was gonna happen until it did. Only thing we can do now is figure out where he took Sammy and get him back before Azazel does any real damage."

A shadow crossed John's eyes as the door opened and a thin, balding man entered the door. "Hello, Dean," he said, "I'm Dr. Jones, and I've been overseeing your stay here. Now, how are you feeling?"

Dean had the sudden urge to start screaming his head off, rip out his IV and go looking for his little brother, but he settled for a simple, "tired."

"I'm not surprised," said Dr. Jones, "not after the serious strain your heart went through. Do you remember what happened?"

Dean caught his dad's eye long enough to catch an answer before saying, "No, it's uh… " He shook his head slowly. "It's still a big blur, sorry."

"That's fine," said Dr. Jones, "loss of memory isn't wholly uncommon in cases of extreme danger and injury. Now, I'd just like to run a couple tests while you're awake, see if we can possibly have you on your feet in the next three or four days."

"Sounds good to me," Dean said. After all, the sooner he got out of this place, the sooner he could find his brother. Nothing else mattered.

* * *

It took two whole days, plus a little extra, before Azazel began to notice the difference. Sam had been fed small amounts of demon blood at regular intervals without any other food or drink, and he had fought them every time, having to be held down and have his ability to breathe cut off until he gave in and swallowed. In fact, Azazel had taken to carrying around a stopwatch to see how long the young man would last before giving in. Now he was starting to see that the time was beginning to shorten before Sam gave in and swallowed, and that Sam's struggles were slowly lessening.

Azazel could only imagine how Sam felt; he knew what powers were supposed to come from drinking demon blood, but how it made _Sam_ feel was beyond his capacity to know. No demon could exorcise another demon, or even kill with a thought, but Sam would be able to, once he drank enough blood, that is. Now, it was only a matter of alerting Sam to what he could be capable of and convincing him to make use of it without getting himself sent back to Hell or even killed in the process.

He watched silently through a one-way window as Sam was held down for his next dose of blood. The young man hadn't stopped his struggling yet, but it was clear he was losing strength, both physically and mentally. "Won't be long, now," Azazel murmured, and turned away.

His thoughts turned to Sam's brother and father. He was well aware of the fact that both men would do anything for the youngest Winchester, but which one could be tricked into opening the first Seal?

Azazel thought it more likely to be the brother than the father, but chances were John would damn his soul to Hell in an instant, and forbid Dean from doing the same for his brother. The biggest worry with that scenario, however, was that John had indeed put all the pieces of the puzzle together and knew what would happen should he break and start to torture other innocent souls to save himself from being ripped apart every day. Such knowledge could give him the strength to endure a hundred years in Hell or more, if it meant stopping Azazel's end game. So, what if he demanded the souls of both men and forced Sam to live alone?

The young man would fall apart without the intense guidance of another he thought he could trust. And, like it or not, Azazel doubted he could ever fit into the category of trustworthy without some serious work on Sam's psyche. So, he would just have to settle for John's soul and leave Dean to struggle with the addiction he had given his younger brother. Hopefully it would be enough to break the Seals, maybe even bring back those dumb angels who had been hiding away in their precious heavenly skies for over a thousand years. Then the real fun would begin, the race to break the final Seal and bring about the Apocalypse. He thought that maybe the angels would be of help rather than a hindrance, and would bring around the right pressures to push Sam down the chosen path.

Azazel laughed and felt at peace.

* * *

Sam dropped to the ground, gasping for air. He didn't know what was worse: the lack of sleep, the lack of food and water, the fact that he was being force-fed teaspoons of demon blood every three hours, or the realization that he was having a harder time fighting every time the demons came in for his next "dose". He was physically exhausted, and he knew his emotional state couldn't be much better.

The thing he decided was the absolute worst was how the demon blood made him _feel_. It was like a power rush, but not a physical one. It made him feel like he could take on anything supernatural and defeat it. It almost made him dizzy with desire, and what he hated the most about it was how much he _liked_ that feeling, like he truly had the potential to be in control of his life, his destiny. No more needing to be looked after like the little brother he was, like the one who always needed to be protected. He wanted more, and that scared him more than anything, including the awful situation he currently found himself in.

Addictions, he decided, sucked royally. And _that_ was putting it mildly.

Suddenly, the female demon who had given him his most recent dose of demon blood dropped to her haunches in front of him. "You know," she said, "all of this would be so much easier if you'd just give in."

Sam didn't have the energy to do more than glare, and the demon shook her head ruefully. "Your loss," she said, standing and turning to walk away.

Emotions spiraling out of control, Sam managed to spit out, "Go back to Hell", wishing she'd just exorcise herself right on the spot so badly it made his head spin that much more. He expected the bitch to just laugh and walk away.

What he didn't expect was for her to _twitch_ and stumble as though she would do just as he wished.

"What the fuck was that?" asked one of the burly male demons. The female turned and stared down at Sam, excitement lighting up her blue eyes.

"He did it," she breathed. "He said the boy might start doing odd things without any encouragement, and I _felt it!_ " She squatted down in front of Sam again, dark hair swinging forward to frame her pale face. "You tried to exorcise me," she whispered excitedly. "Not that you're strong enough to do any of that yet, but you _did_ it."

"What?" Sam asked dumbly, trying to make sense of her words through the pounding of his head.

"Azazel!" the girl yelled, staring at the one-way window. "He's starting to show signs!"

There was a pause, and then Sam's cell door opened and Azazel entered. "You felt it?" he asked, and the girl nodded enthusiastically. "Good. Two more doses and then you can start him on some human food. We need to keep the human part strong enough to support the other."

The pounding in Sam's head was increasing, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to deal with the pain. He finally raised his hands to his temples and suddenly realized he was about to have a vision. "No!" he managed to gasp before everything around him fell away.

_Two boys. They looked similar like the thought of twins, but they weren't identical. A girl, about the jump at the words of one, while the other tried to make her stop. Shouting. Was that Dean's voice? His own? The girl, teetering on the edge, and then one boy found a gun and shot the other dead._

_Words. Control, do what they say. Dean does, Sam feels nothing. More children affected by Azazel._

"Sam!"

Sam was gasping for breath, hands glued to his temples, and he realized he was curled up over his legs, forehead pressed into the floor. Why did it hurt so badly? His visions caused him pain, but nothing like this.

"Sam, talk to me. What happened?"

Sam opened his eyes, but it was too bright. With a groan, he closed them again and tried to curl into himself more.

"Meg said something about visions?"

"I believe that's what his gift is, he _was_ able to track me down to the home of a child I was feeding. I don't know how else he could have found me."

"What other abilities are there?" The female demon sounded genuinely curious.

"Telekinesis, voice control, strength, the ability to electrocute, to stop hearts… I've recorded a few others, but those have been the main ones. None of them have managed more than one gift so far, though."

There was a pause.

"Has he shown other gifts without the extra blood?"

"None that I'm aware of."

Sam wanted to start laughing, because he _had_ managed telekinesis once before. Part of him wanted to say something, but all he managed was a strangled groan.

"His visions have never affected him this badly before, have they?"

"Never. It could be that he was seeing further into the future than normal, but I've never seen any see more than a few days before the event happened."

"The added blood could be changing the equation. After all, he's the only one to have more than the customary few drops."

Sam's headache was slowly fading, and he found his body relaxing slightly. He wondered how far away the mattress on the floor was and thought that if he could just get on to the damn thing, he might finally be able to give into the desire to sleep, or maybe head straight for unconsciousness. Anything was better than this.

Then he heard the mattress scraping along the floor, and his headache increased again. Silence fell around him.

"The mattress just moved."

The female demon sounded surprised, and Sam found he could manage a chuckle.

"No shit," he said hoarsely, keeping one hand on his pounding head and using the other to slowly prop himself back up into a sitting position. He cracked his eyes open and glared at the demons above him. The mattress was close enough to reach, now, and he slowly crawled over to it.

"You've done something like this before, Sammy?" asked Azazel, and Sam grit his teeth.

"It's _Sam,_ " he bit out, "and yes."

"What caused it?"

"Locked up," Sam answered wearily, managing to sit on the mattress. "It was another kid, telekinetic abilities, and he was gonna kill Dean." He closed his eyes and dug his fingers into his temples.

"The one who committed suicide," Azazel breathed. "Have you met any of the others?"

"No," Sam said, wishing the damn demon would just leave him alone so he could rest, maybe even get over this newest headache.

There was a pause. "Wait six hours before his next dose," Azazel said decisively. "A vision and a bout of telekinesis has clearly wiped him out for the time being."

Sam collapsed on the mattress and curled up on one side. He could hear the four demons making their way out of his cell, and the lights were turned off. Sam felt the desire to cry, but allowed the bone-weary exhaustion to overcome it.

His last thoughts were whether Dean and his dad were all right, and if they'd ever find him.

* * *

_TBC...  
_


	3. Research

After two days, Dean forcibly signed out of the hospital against the medical advice of Dr. Jones and the concerns of John. "Everyday I'm in there is another day lost where we could be looking for Sam," he told John. "I'm not… I won't be okay until we find him."

Admitting that had been painful, but that was how Dean had worked since the age of four. Sammy's well-being had always determined his own, and knowing that Sam was out there being forced to do God-knows-what made his stomach churn.

That sad look came into John's eyes again before he turned away to the Impala. "He's still alive, Dean," he said. "We've gotta hang onto that knowledge for now."

Dean was silent as he slid into the passenger seat and continued to say nothing as they drove to Bobby's place.

Bobby was waiting on the front porch for them, a sad smile peeking out from under his grease-stained ballcap. He made his way down the steps and over to Dean, pulling him into a brief hug when he stepped out of the car. "Good to see ya on your feet again, son," he said gruffly, and Dean found he was able to manage a faint smile.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Thanks, Bobby."

Bobby just smiled some more and turned to lead the way inside. "You're both rooming in the guest bedroom upstairs, unless that's gonna cause problems?" He raised his eyebrows as he turned to eye both John and Dean.

John shook his head. "No problems there, Bobby," he said. "Got anything we can cook up?"

"I'm not that hungry, Dad," Dean said, instantly catching onto John's plan. "I'd rather get started on trying to find Sam."

"You're no good to your brother if you can't take care of yourself, Dean," John said sharply, "and you left the hospital days before you probably should have. We are going to eat before we discuss anything to do with Sam, understand?"

Dean had the intense urge to tell his dad to just go fuck himself while he looked for his brother on his own, but an order was an order, and Dean was still very much the soldier his father had raised him to be. "Yes, sir," he ground out. John shot him a sharp look, but he said nothing, and the three men continued into the house.

John helped Bobby prepare a simple meal consisting of sandwiches, chips and juice, and although Dean wanted nothing more than to wolf down his food in two minutes and get started on searching for Sam, one look from his father had him eating at a regular pace while listening to John and Bobby talk about cars. Normally, Dean would have been all over a conversation like this one, but it all felt so wrong without Sam there, rolling his eyes at their enthused words. Sam knew all kinds of freaky things about history, the supernatural, and other random bits of trivia, but he had never really caught onto the "car talk" thing, as he had called it once.

Dean would give _anything_ to have Sam sitting next to him right now.

Finally, the three of them finished eating and ensconced themselves in Bobby's study. Bobby was making notes of everything they knew about Azazel, from locations he'd been to and people he had hurt. Dean couldn't help but shudder when they reached Max Miller's name on the list.

"Dean?" asked John.

"Sorry," he said, "it's just that we met that one through Sam's visions. He…" Dean shook his head before blurting, "You have no idea how glad I am that you rarely ever got drunk when Sam and I were growing up."

John and Bobby frowned, and Dean swallowed before saying, "Max's dad was an angry drunk, and he blamed Max for his mom's death." Understanding flashed through John's dark eyes and a look of horror spread across both his and Bobby's faces. "Sam told me once that you raised us like soldiers," Dean continued, "and I could tell that he hated that, but meeting Max… It really freaked him out. It was like watching a big 'what if' story playing out, and after that…"

"What happened to Max?" John asked softly.

"He… He could move things with his mind," Dean said, "that whole telekinesis thing, and once his powers started developing, he decided to get revenge." Dean swallowed convulsively again. "Sam had visions where Max suffocated his dad, chopped his uncle's head off, and tried to stab his step-mom with a knife."

"Tried?" Bobby asked at once.

"Sam was determined to change that vision before it could occur," said Dean. "He stopped Max, got him to sit down and talk. That's when he found out about Max's mom, the abuse, all of it. He tried to talk some sense into the kid, but Max wouldn't listen and locked him in a closet with a wardrobe stuck in front of it."

Dean paused, remembering the things Sam had told him after Max had shot himself. "Sam told me he had another vision of Max killing me with my gun, but that he managed to make the wardrobe move. He came upstairs where we all were, begged Max to stop, to listen, but the kid was in too much emotional pain. He had got a hold of my gun earlier and he used it to shoot himself in the head."

John was silent for a long moment. "When you say Sam moved the wardrobe, do you mean he knocked it over by shoving it, or…?"

This was the part Dean hadn't wanted to talk about so much. "Telekinesis," he sighed. "It's only ever happened the one time, but he moved that wardrobe with his fucking _brain_ to save me." He looked up and met John's eyes. "Have any of the others shown more than one ability?"

John shook his head. "The others have lived very normal lives compared to our family," he said softly. "Sounds to me like the way I brought you boys up opened him up more to the potential powers he could have than with the others."

Dean shut his eyes. Why did it have to be Sam? Why did Azazel have to become so interested in a mechanic/ex-Marine and the daughter of a Hunter? And why did his mom get up that night? She knew something was coming, didn't she? She'd made a Deal to save his dad before Dean or Sam were even born!

There were too many questions, and not nearly enough answers to go with them.

"So," Bobby said after the compiled list was completed, "what we need to do is see if these signs, the crop failures and stuff, if they're occurring anywhere else." He looked up at John. "Do you have any other cities and dates marked where house fires didn't occur?"

John shook his head. "It never occurred to me to look before," he said. "I thought all the children with these powers had their mothers die the same way as —" He broke off, and Dean knew he was thinking of Mary again. "Our main issue is whether Azazel is going to continue going after other children of if he'll even stay in one spot long enough for us to track him."

"Well, we do know what to look for," Bobby said, "and you've got Sam's laptop to make the search easier."

John smiled, but it was hollow. "Sammy was always better with computers than me," he said before glancing at Dean, who held his hands up and backed away a step.

"Don't look at me," he said, "I still firmly believe that the internet is for porn."

That got a genuine chuckle out of John. "Okay," he said, "let's get to work."

* * *

It had taken a direct order from John before Dean finally went to bed that night. John knew his oldest son was desperate the find the younger one, but their usual habits of getting between two and eight hours of sleep a week wasn't going to help them find Sam, especially given Dean's recent stay in the hospital. In truth, John found he was glad for the reprieve. Searching for Azazel these last few months had taken quite a bit out of him, and then being possessed, losing Sam, and Dean's hospitalization were almost too much for the ex-Marine to handle. But now he couldn't sleep; instead, he watched the gentle rise and fall of his son's chest from the bed next to his.

When John had taken off without Dean to follow a new lead on Azazel, he hadn't expected his older son to go find the younger at Stanford to ask for help. Sam had made it pretty clear when he'd left for college that he was done with Hunting, even though John had discovered that he still slept with a bowie knife under the mattress and had an ample supply of salt in the storage room of the apartment he had shared with Jessica Moore.

Jessica… John had never seen her from more than a distance, but it became clear pretty quickly that not only was she beautiful, but that Sam had clearly fallen in love with her. He often wondered, even now, if Sam had been on the verge of proposing to her when her life was so cruelly stolen away. It was so very unfair, the bad hand Sam had been dealt so early in life, never getting the chance to know his mother and having his one chance at a normal life taken away in a flash of fire. Part of him thought that even if they ever managed to kill Azazel, Sam would be unable to return to that brief period of normalcy; losing Jessica had shoved Sam further in John's direction than he had ever thought possible.

Dean shifted in his sleep, mumbling something that seemed to include "Sammy" in it, and John felt his lips quirk up into a smile. From the moment he had placed Sammy in Dean's arms almost one month after his birth, it had become clear to the older brother that he had to take care of the younger, no matter what. The feeling had only been intensified the night Mary had been killed and even though Dean had had times when he thought he didn't want the responsibility of watching out for Sam, he had still managed to come through when Sam needed him. Every time but one, and Dean had learned from that mistake and toughened up in ways John hadn't expected.

John knew part of this was Dean's desire to never disappoint his father, but it was clear that Dean considered himself the protector, often getting into trouble at school for going after anyone who threatened Sam in any way when they were children to keeping Sam safe from any dangers on hunts as teenagers, even if it meant risking his own life. It hadn't always worked, but Sam had managed to avoid many severe injuries as a child, and all because his older brother was determined to watch out for him every day, to do whatever it took to keep him alive.

It was clear that Sam had developed his own desire to watch out for his older brother, as well. John now knew that, despite the independent streak his youngest son had, he depended on Dean to always be there and would do anything to keep him alive. If one were to die, the other would surely break. John worried that their interdependence could have adverse affects on their relationship in the future, but for now he had to believe that their desire to keep the other safe would be enough to see Sam's safe return from Azazel's grasp.

John finally felt the pull of sleep, and allowed it to claim him.

* * *

The first real food Sam was allowed was chicken noodle soup with a glass of water. While he was beyond starving, he knew the demon's were doing this only because he'd had nothing but blood for the last three days. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he _had_ eaten, between exorcising Meg, finding the Colt, Azazel going after yet another child, and John being possessed by the very demon he had been Hunting for the last 23 years. As he ate, he wondered if Dean was all right, or if he had ended up in the hospital, or even worse…

Sam shook his head. He had to believe that his dad and brother were still alive and kicking, and that they would find him and end this nightmare before anything else could really happen.

This thought returned Sam to the words of the female demon the last time he had been conscious. _"You tried to exorcise me,"_ she had whispered to him. _"Not that you're strong enough to do any of that yet, but you_ did _it."_

What the hell had that meant? Sam closed his eyes and went over what had happened prior to that moment; first there was more demon blood, then he'd been urged to give in, then he had wished that —

Sam's eyes shot open. Drinking demon blood gave him the ability to exorcise demons, to send them back to Hell. But why would a demon give anyone an advantage like that? Exorcisms in Latin were difficult, but entirely possible, so why use his mind to do it when he could take the time to memorize half a dozen different exorcisms on his own?

It was then that Sam finally understood that Azazel's plans were far greater than he had ever thought possible. Someone with that kind of power could rule over any demon, could send them away if they disobeyed. Maybe, if he was forced to drink enough blood, he might even be able to _kill_ a demon. So what did that make Sam, the Anti-Christ or something?

He was afraid the answer was even worse than what he thought.

A blonde-haired demon he didn't recognize entered his room to clear away the empty bowl and cup, and he felt slightly tempted to try and see if he could affect the demon inside the flesh at all. Suddenly, it occurred to him that they might _want_ him to do that, so he remained still and silent, watching the demon as she left his room. Her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly before the door locked her out of sight, and Sam knew he was right.

Well, fine. If they wanted him to use his powers, they were going to have to force him to do anything just as they'd had to force him to drink the damnable blood in the first place. Sam refused to give them what they wanted, even if he felt a craving for more blood, to use the powers he was developing, to give into what Azazel and his cronies so obviously wanted. Resettling himself on the mattress, he crossed his arms over his chest and waited. After all, what else could he do?

* * *

As much as he hated to admit it, a full night's rest had done wonders for Dean's body and mind. Even John looked rested for once, wearing fresh clothes and drinking a large cup of coffee as he ate a bowl of cereal. Bobby was cooking up eggs and bacon, the smell making Dean's mouth water as he snagged up his own cup of coffee and eased down into the chair next to his dad.

"I'm glad you slept well," John said, glancing up from his cereal.

"Yeah," Dean said. "I thought I'd had enough sleep at the hospital, but it helped a lot." He took a long sip of his coffee as Bobby set a plate before him, with the eggs, bacon, and two thick slices of buttered toast arranged on it. "Thanks, Bobby."

"No problem," Bobby said, setting down a plate for John and another one for himself. "Need to stay healthy, you know."

Dean rolled his eyes, but nodded his agreement. "So, we taking on Sammy's laptop again?" he asked before taking a large bite of his bacon. John rolled his eyes this time, but nodded before starting in on his own food.

It hadn't been easy, but they had managed to expand their list starting from 1972 up to 1982 of other cities suffering similar symptoms as the other ones that had ended with the fires in the nurseries. Dean had wanted to try going back further, but John had made an odd comment about how that wasn't necessary because Azazel hadn't had a reason for any of this before that year.

Sometimes Dean's father confused the hell outta him.

What bothered him most about John's comment was the location of the first sign of Azazel's existence. It was a convent, located in Illchester, Maryland, and eight nuns had apparently been slaughtered by the priest, a Father Fredric Lehne, who claimed to have been possessed and even remembered the demon's name.

Azazel. What a bastard.

Dean found he was incredibly curious about this priest. If he remembered Azazel's name, then how much more had he been aware of during his possession? The big problem, of course, was finding a way to track down this priest, provided he was even still alive. The even bigger problem was finding a way to do it without alerting his dad.

John had always been a bit secretive since Mary's death, and Dean had just accepted it as a part of who his dad had become. Now he wondered if that penchant for keeping mum was going to be what got Sam killed. Clearly, Azazel had big plans for his younger brother, and from the way John had been talking the last few days, Dean began to suspect that his dad knew something about Azazel's plans, maybe even an end game. But if he did, why couldn't he tell them? Why _wouldn't_ he tell them?

The idea that John knew what was going on and would not tell his sons irritated Dean in ways he had never thought possible. Sam irritated him on a regular basis, but his dad? The feeling was new and it settled in Dean's stomach in a very unpleasant way. He glanced over the top of Sam's laptop at John, who was buried in his old newspaper clippings and other things he had gathered when tracking Azazel on his own. Sam's arguments about how secretive John was floated to the surface of Dean's thoughts, and he looked back down at the laptop to hide his grimace. Like it or not, Sam had made a very good point that Dean had been unwilling to listen to before now.

He stared at the article about the convent, St. Mary's. Why did Azazel disembowel eight nuns? There were no pictures of the crime scene in any public database, but using skills he had somehow managed to pick up from his younger brother, Dean was able to hack into the correct police database. What he found was more than a little disturbing, but the nun who had been draped over the alter on her back, arms spread and head hanging off the edge bothered him more than the others. Her placement was so peculiar compared to the other dead nuns, and Dean wondered what Azazel had been there for, what he might have learned that could have led to him feeding six-month-old babies demon blood?

Mary had made a Deal with Azazel, a deal to save John, and it had led them to their current situation. Dean's eyes narrowed.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you remember about the night Azazel killed you?"

John looked up, clearly startled by the question, and slowly set his newspaper clippings and other research bits onto the table in front of him. "I uh…" He shook his head. "Ten years before she… Your mom, she was really anxious that night, wanted to get away from everything, her parents in particular." He ran a hand through his hair and stared at nothing as he thought back. "I never liked your Grandpa Samuel very much," he added, "and I can tell you the feeling was mutual. I'd just figured they'd had an argument and Mary wanted to elope or something, but then everything went, I dunno, wrong…"

"What d'you mean?" Dean asked, but John shook his head.

"I can't remember much, honestly," he said. "It's all a blur."

"What can you remember?" Dean pressed.

John sighed and met Dean's eyes. "The first thing I can clearly remember is waking up in your mom's arms, confused as hell, and her dad…" He dropped his eyes and frowned again. "Mary told me that he was dead from a heart attack, and she was crying…" He leaned back in his seat. "I found out a few hours later that her mom was dead, as well, neck snapped in her own home." He shook his head once more. "We never found out who killed Deanna, but now I guess we know who was responsible for them both."

Dean was silent for a long moment. Samuel and Deanna? _I guess that explains our names,_ Dean thought before forcing himself to focus again on the subject at hand. "Azazel," he said softly, and John nodded. "I can't believe Mom made a Deal with that demon."

John's eyes were sad as he met Dean's. "Guess she loved me too much," he said, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the table. "I'd only come back from the war a few months earlier, but I still had so many hopes and dreams." He smiled sadly. "Your mom told me once that she loved how I still believed in happily-ever-after after the Marines, and part of me thought that was how it'd be forever after, but…" He blinked rapidly, cleared his throat loudly and looked away. "Anyway," he said gruffly, "that's all I got. Find anything else yet?"

Dean shook his head, even though he was bursting with more questions; it was clear that John had said all he was going to say. "Still looking."

John nodded and returned to his clippings while Dean dropped his gaze back to the nun on the convent alter. Azazel had learned something in 1972, and used it to his advantage a year later when he found Mary and John. The questions still remained: Why did he bleed into the mouths of these children? What was his end game?

Dean decided that he was going to track down that priest, see if there were any answers the man could give him if he was still alive to talk. A trip to St. Mary's looked to be necessary, as well. After all, if John wasn't going to tell him what was going on and where all this was going, then he was just going to have to figure it out himself before anything really bad could happen to Sam.

Feeling a new surge of determination, Dean tucked back into his research of places Azazel had been to since the night he had killed Mary. He'd find the answers, one way or another.


	4. Exorcism

"He's resisting."

Azazel frowned, staring through the one-way glass at Sam, who was firmly planted on the mattress and glaring silently at Marian setting a plate of buttered toast with another glass of water on the floor in front of him.

"He's clearly curious," Tara said, "and I'm pretty certain he's figured it out already from what I said to him nine hours ago, but he's refusing to even try."

"How did his most recent dose go?"

"Same as before," Tara answered, shaking her head. "I look in his eyes and I can see he's becoming addicted as you said he would, but I think his Hunter instincts are holding him back right now."

"No," Azazel said softly, watching Marian leave Sam's room, "not his instincts. It's his father and brother." He narrowed his eyes as Sam learned forward and snagged a slice of toast, eating it at a sedate pace even though hunger was written all over him. "He knows they're trying to find him, or he at least hopes they are."

"Why didn't you kill them?" Tara asked curiously.

"Right now, I still need them," Azazel answered. "Have they been located?"

Tara nodded. "They're with that man, Bobby Singer. Sioux Falls, South Dakota."

Azazel curled his upper lip in disgust. "That's where they got Meg," he said softly, and Tara nodded.

"Derrick says the brother was hospitalized for four days," she said after a moment.

"Only four?" Azazel raised his eyebrows slightly at that. "The state I left him in should have put him in there for a solid _week_ , if not longer." He snorted. "He's either very good at recovering or he's incredibly stupid."

He noted Tara's amused grin as he continued to watch Sam eat. Not for the first time, Azazel wondered why he had made such an abrupt change in his plans for the young man before him. All those other demons he had summoned to keep on eye on Sam as he grew up and push him in the right direction had also been a bit over the top; no other child had been given such special consideration. Of course, no other father had taken to Hunting as John had, and once Sam had started showing talent as a Hunter in his own right, he knew he had correctly judged time-traveling Dean's reactions clear back in 1973. Even better was the fact that it had only been a year since his "visit" to that convent in Maryland. Something told him it was greater than destiny, being led to Sam Winchester, and he certainly wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Marian entered Sam's room to clear his dishes, muscles tense once more at the thought of Sam possibly testing his curiosity out on her. Sam, however, stared blankly at the wall, and Marian suddenly growled.

"Aren't you going to do anything?" she asked, clearly angry and afraid. Azazel frowned thoughtfully as he watched Sam blink and focus on Marian.

"Do anything?" he asked in turn. "Why would I do anything?"

"You've made sense of what Tara told you, I _know_ you have," Marian snapped, "so why aren't you trying? You've got to be curious!"

Sam smiled slightly. "I'd sooner draw a Devil's Trap and learn dozens of exorcisms in Latin than use whatever powers the demon blood I've been forced to ingest gave me."

"But you've used your other abilities before!"

"Up to nine hours ago, yeah," Sam responded, "but that's what they want, what _he_ wants. What I don't understand is why you're telling me to do something you obviously don't want me to do." He smiled bleakly. "What demon _wants_ to get sent back to Hell instead of wrecking havoc on their potential meat suits?"

Marian narrowed her black eyes and she suddenly moved so she was right in Sam's face. Tara tensed but Azazel motioned for her to stay still, wondering if Marian could possibly give Sam the right push.

"You don't see the potential, do you?" Marian hissed, and Sam actually scooted away on the mattress until he was backed into a corner. "Almost every exorcism in Latin will fucking _kill_ our hosts. What you're capable of can save their oh-so-precious lives, and gets rid of _us_ with far less damage."

Azazel studied Sam's eyes, noting the flickering emotions as he stared at Marian. "I don't believe you," Sam said softly, and Marian started laughing.

"Right, because demons only ever _lie,_ right?" She stood up and Azazel saw Sam relax slightly, although he was still clearly tense and on his guard. "Well, I guess the only way you're gonna know for sure is by trying, isn't it?"

Azazel watched Sam's face. The boy was so tempted…

"No," Sam finally said. "I'm not doing it." There was a pause, and Azazel wondered if Marian would react violently or just leave in frustration.

It was the former. Marian let out an angry yell and dove forward, grabbing Sam around the neck, hoisting him off his feet and pinning him to the wall. Sam's eyes shot wide open in panic and his hands grasped her wrist, trying to dislodge her hand so he could breathe again.

"Do it!" Marian screamed at Sam, not releasing the pressure she had on Sam's windpipe. "DO IT!"

"Azazel," Tara said, "we should —"

"Wait," Azazel cut her off, still watching Sam's face as he gasped for air. "She won't kill him, she knows not to."

"But this?" Tara asked. "I thought we weren't resorting to violence for once."

Azazel smiled as Sam's eyes bulged. "With Sam, I'm starting to think that violence may be the only answer." And he watched.

* * *

Sam was scared. No, scratch that. He was fucking terrified. He knew it was useless to get the demon's hand off his neck using only his human strength, but he also knew what she wanted and had the feeling no one was going to step in and save him before he lost consciousness. And the alternative —

No. He wasn't giving in. Black spots danced at the edge of his vision, and he knew he didn't have much longer before losing the battle to stay awake, if not alive, but he couldn't, he _wasn't going to do what they wanted._

Unfortunately, he was about to discover something unnerving about his new-found abilities.

Sam looked down at the demon, stared into her black eyes for one moment, allowed himself to wish she'd go back to Hell, leaving her host alive the way she said was now possible.

The demon _twitched_ and started choking, releasing her grip on Sam's throat. He slumped to the ground, staring in shock and the wish still bouncing around in his head. _No. No, I didn't mean it!_

The demon stared at Sam as she continued choking and then she dropped to her knees as black smoke starting puffing from between her lips. Sam wanted it to stop, wanted to be left alone, but the girl was slowly being exorcised by his brain of all things and he could feel his body tingling, feel the blood rushing, _singing_ in his veins and how could he have ever ignored its call?

He vaguely realized he had raised one hand and was now _concentrating_ on ridding the body of the demon inside, watching in growing fascination as the black smoke dropped to the ground, bubbling around the host as though it were completely under his command.

Which it was.

Sam was starting to get another headache and thought his nose was even bleeding, but now that he had started he couldn't make himself stop until the damn demon was back in Hell.

The ground below the black smoke seemed to crack with an eerie, reddish light, slowly pulling the black smoke into its depths. And then, it was gone.

Sam dropped his hand, head pounding as he tried to focus on the young girl before him. She was barely holding herself up on her hands and knees, breathing hard. "Hey," Sam managed softly. "Are… you okay?"

The blonde-haired girl looked up and plain brown eyes stared at him. "I… What?" She seemed so confused, but then her face crumpled and she started shaking, not from obvious fatigue, but from barely suppressed emotions. "Oh, God," she gasped, dropping onto her bent legs and wrapping her arms around herself protectively. "That… that _thing_ …" Her brown eyes started watering and then the tears were spilling over. _"What have I done?"_ she whispered brokenly.

"Hey," Sam said again, forcing himself forward and placing his hands on the girl's shoulders to both comfort her and maintain his balance. "It wasn't you, it was the demon that possessed you."

"But I _choked_ you!" the girl gasped out between sobs. "And then you… What did you do?"

Sam tensed and dropped his head. "I…" He swallowed. "I saved you."

_And I think I just damned my soul._

"Oh," the girl said.

There was a long moment of silence as the girl's sobs tapered off.

"What's your name?" Sam asked, slowly lifting his face just enough to see the girl's through his shaggy hair.

"Marian," the girl whispered. "You?"

"Sam."

There was another pause.

"What happens now?" Marian asked, lifting one hand and wiping her tears away.

"I don't know," Sam sighed, looking over at the one-way window and wondering if Azazel had just witnessed Sam giving in under so little pressure. "I think they might let you go now."

" _Might?"_ Marian echoed. "Why might? And what about you?"

Sam smiled tightly. "I'm not going anywhere for a while," he said.

Then the door to Sam's prison opened, and Azazel and the demon he now knew was called Tara entered.

"Bravo, Sammy!" Azazel said, yellow eyes glowing eerily in the well-lit room. "I knew you had it in you!"

"Fuck off," Sam bit out, finally wiping at his bleeding nose with one hand and dropping his other hand from Marian's shoulder to put pressure on his forehead as his headache continued to pound away. "Are you letting her go?"

"Of course!" Azazel said brightly. "She was only here for you to practice on, and I must say, you passed with flying colors." Then he stopped smiling. "She only has one other mission left."

"What?" Marian gasped and Sam's head snapped up.

"You're not killing her!" he shouted around the dizzy spell that suddenly assaulted him. "Just let her go, let her leave this place in one fucking piece!"

"And she will," Azazel said in a voice so reassuring it made Sam's skin crawl. "She just has one more stop in South Dakota."

"What?" Marian repeated. "But I live in Washington."

"Do you?" Azazel said in an interested way that meant he was anything but. "I'm sure you'll still get there one day, but you're going to give a message for me first, and the only way you'll get it delivered is if you're alive and without a demon in that meat suit of yours."

Sam stared at Azazel as realization dawned. South Dakota. That's where Bobby lived. Did that mean that his dad and Dean were there, too? They _were_ alive, and they must be looking for him.

"Figured it out, Sammy?" Azazel asked smugly as Tara pulled Marian to her feet roughly.

Sam looked away and nodded silently.

"And you have nothing you want the girl here to tell them?"

Sam closed his eyes before looking up and meeting Marian's eyes. "If you see Dean, tell him I'm sorry," Sam whispered. Marian looked horribly confused, but she nodded, anyway, and then Tara pulled her from the room.

"Are you happy now?" Sam asked dully.

"Sure," Azazel said. "You finally did it. I'm just sad it had to be until you were under pressure."

Sam couldn't meet Azazel's eyes. "I guess that means you expect there to be a next time, then."

"Of course," Azazel said. "I could see it in your eyes. You can't ignore the call of your blood, Sammy, and I intend to make sure that you don't."

Azazel left, and Sam closed his eyes against the tears that suddenly filled them. He now knew that demon hadn't been lying, but the _price_ …

Suddenly feeling beyond exhausted, Sam made his way back onto his mattress and was asleep within minutes.

* * *

Dean told his dad was going to take a break and was now on his back under the Impala, using the pretense of an oil change to get away from both John and Bobby. However, he had a stolen ID in one hand and his cell phone in his other hand. He stared up at the underside of his car, thinking over the conversation he had just completed. Fredric Lehn was still alive in a psychiatric ward in Maryland, and was one of the ward's calmest, sanest patients.

Other than the fact that he claimed to have been possessed by a demon, that is.

Dean wasn't sure when he'd be able to get over to Maryland to talk to the man, but at least he knew he was still around for when the chance arose. Stuffing the ID and cell phone away, he shoved out from under his car and started to do the oil change for real when the sound of an approaching car attracted his attention. He straightened up, looking toward the entrance to the salvage yard.

Both Bobby and John were still inside, and he knew they weren't expecting any visitors, so who…?

A plain, nondescript car drove into view, skidding to a halt before the back passenger-side door was thrown open and a young girl was shoved out, stumbling to stay upright. The car quickly drove away, and Dean was left staring at the girl as dust floated through the air between them.

"Ah, hi," Dean said after a moment as he took in the girl's appearance. Medium length blonde hair framed a pale face with plain brown eyes. She looked to be just over five feet tall, and she was shaking. Dean frowned and slowly moved forward. "Are you okay?" he asked. "Do you even know where you are?"

The girl looked up at him. "I'm guessing South Dakota," she said. "That's where they said I had to go before I could go home."

"They?" Dean asked, suspicions rising in his mind. "Who's they?"

The girl swallowed and looked around. "Is there a Dean here?" she asked instead. "He told he if I saw him —"

"He? Who are you talking about? What did he want you to tell me?" Dean knew he must be scaring this girl, but if she had seen Sam…

"You — you're Dean?" the girl asked, starting at the sound of a door opening and slamming. Dean turned to see John and Bobby hurrying toward them.

"Yeah," Dean answered, turning back. "Please tell me you saw Sam."

The girl's eyes widened. "You must be the right Dean," she said softly. "Sam…"

"What's going on?" John asked as he reached Dean's side. "Who are you?"

"M-Marian," the girl answered, eyes widening. "I — God, I'm sorry, it's so hard to think straight after everything, I haven't even had a real chance to sleep since he got that thing out of me —"

"Sam?" Dean asked, and Marian nodded. "Were you possessed?"

The girl tensed, but finally nodded once more.

"Let's get you inside," Bobby said from John's other side. "I think you could use some food and maybe some rest before anything else."

Marian nodded a third time as Bobby and John turned away before meeting Dean's eyes. "Dean," she whispered so softly John and Bobby couldn't have heard her. "Sam wanted me to tell you he was sorry."

Dean's heart clenched and he stopped walking, the older men moving on ahead and clearly unaware of what was going on behind them. "Why?" he choked out. "Sam has nothing to be sorry for."

Marian smiled sadly and started walking again. "He must be your brother or something."

"Yeah," Dean said as he guided Marian up to Bobby's house. "Younger brother. How is he?"

Marian frowned and looked away. "He… Sorry," she muttered as she stumbled on the front steps. Dean seized her elbow and helped her into the kitchen, where Bobby quickly set about preparing some food as Marian took one seat, Dean sitting next to her and John sitting opposite. Dean silently took in the dark circles under Marian's eyes and the way her hands shook from obvious fatigue. Should they wait before questioning her?

"Do you know how long you were possessed?" John asked after a moment. _I guess not_ , Dean thought in answer to his own question.

Marian looked up before shaking her head. "A few days?" she guessed. "I'm just not sure about anything right now…" She sniffed and closed her eyes briefly.

John nodded. "Did they have something they wanted you to tell us?"

Marian swallowed before nodding. Dean wanted to ask what it was, what more there could be apart from what Sam had wanted her to tell him, but Bobby chose that moment to thrust a sandwich and a glass of water in front of Marian. "Eat up," he ordered gently. "You can tell us everything once you feel ready, okay?"

Marian smiled gratefully at Bobby and started eating. Bobby all but shoved John and Dean from the room, telling them to set up a sleeping space for Marian on the couch in the front room. "She's gonna need a few days to recover before we can send her back home," he told him.

"What if she's still possessed?" John asked, but Bobby shook his head at once.

"That was holy water," he said, "and she didn't react to it at all. I'd say she's nothing but a scared, young girl who went through a traumatizing experience and probably just wants to go back home." He sighed and shook his head again. "Give her time, she'll tell us whatever it is Azazel wanted us to know about Sam. Hopefully there's a clue that'll lead us to where he is."

"I hope so," Dean said softly, still wondering what on earth Sam could have to be sorry for. "She told me that Sam asked her to tell me that he was sorry."

John's eyes narrowed. "Sam's sorry?" he said.

"Wish to God I knew why," Dean answered. "I guess she might have the answer to that one, too." He shook his head. "I'll be outside when she's ready," he said, leaving the older men behind and returning to the Impala. He stopped when he reached the car, staring at the passenger seat. Sam's seat.

_Where are you, little brother?_


	5. Message

Marian slept all through the day and well into the evening, only waking up to the smell of Bobby frying up some steak for dinner. John noticed her stumbling into the bathroom, and when she reemerged, she looked much more put together than she had upon her arrival that morning.

Dean had stayed outside the entire day, working on the Impala until Bobby yelled at him to come in and eat. Unfortunately, dinner was tense and silent. John knew he should try to get some kind of conversation going, but he wanted only to know what it was Marian had to tell them. Finally, dinner ended and the three men led Marian into Bobby's study, Marian looking incredibly nervous as she took a seat before them.

"It's all right," John finally managed to say, "just tell us at your own pace, okay?"

Marian nodded and tucked her hair behind one ear. "I'm from Washington," she began softly. "I was running an errand for my mom when the demon got me, and it…" She trailed off with a shudder. "It's painful, being possessed," she finally said.

"It is," John agreed, and Marian met his eyes briefly before continuing.

"I wasn't aware of too much at first," she said, eyes going distant, "not until the first time I saw Sam. I — The demon, I mean, she was bringing him some food, but she was really nervous about it and I couldn't figure out why. Three hours later she was waiting to bring him some food while some of the other demons were giving him his latest dose."

"Dose?" Dean asked, and Marian couldn't quite look him in the eye.

"I couldn't figure out what that meant at the time," she said, "but then I was going in to give him some toast. When I — the demon returned to take away his empty dishes, she finally cracked and asked Sam why he wasn't doing anything." She frowned, staring into space. "I didn't understand what she was talking about until Sam said something about preferring Devil's Traps and memorized exorcisms in Latin over whatever power —" She broke off, shifting nervously in her seat and not meeting anyone's eyes.

"Marian?" Bobby asked.

"He said… Sam — he had been forced to drink blood, demon blood," she said, and John froze.

"Demon blood?" Dean choked out.

Marian nodded. "Sam said it gave him powers," she told him, "and the demon wanted him to use whatever these powers were, said he would be able to save hosts, save _me_ if he did what they wanted." Marian swallowed hard. "He kept refusing, and the demon in me, she got so angry and she… God, it felt like _I_ was the one choking him to death."

John closed his eyes briefly as Marian broke into soft sobs. "I t-thought I was going to k-kill him, and he was staring d-down at me as he was gasping for air, a-and then —" Marian broke off, shaking her head. "It was something about his eyes," she said so softly John almost didn't hear her. "They flashed or something, and then I suddenly dropped him because the demon was losing control, just bubbling out and sinking into this cracked, g-glowing oblivion beneath the ground…"

Marian shook her head. "Next thing I know, I'm on my hands and knees, sobbing because I couldn't get over choking Sam like that. His nose started bleeding when he was getting rid of that demon, and it looked like he had a massive headache that was completely draining him, but he told me it was the demon, not me and I couldn't understand how he freed me, why he wasn't angry at me." Marian closed her eyes. "He looked so sad, like he thought he'd just sold his soul…"

Bobby scrubbed at his face with one hand. "He didn't chant in Latin at all?"

Marian shook her head again. "It just looked like he was concentrating really hard with one hand lifted toward me like it directed what his mind wanted." Marian's eyes started to tear up again. "God, he looked so tired, but he still tried to comfort me…"

Dean smiled sadly. "That's Sammy for ya," he said. "What happened next?"

"Two demons came in," Marian answered quietly. "The girl looked so normal, but the guy had these weird yellow eyes and he was praising Sam and Sam looked so miserable…"

"Azazel," Dean whispered harshly.

"Is that his name?" Marian asked, and John nodded silently. "He — Azazel, he said I had I had one more task to do, and I thought I was gonna die, and Sam freaked, told them to leave me alone —" She broke off again with another sob. "H-he was in no position to say anything," she managed after a moment, "I could tell he was a prisoner, but he was still going to fight for me…" Bobby handed her a tissue and she wiped at her face and nose before going on. "Anyway, Azazel said I had to go to South Dakota before I could go home, deliver a message, and then he asked Sam if he understood." She smiled sadly at Dean. "That's when Sam asked me to tell you he was sorry."

John looked over at Dean and he knew that Dean understood what Sam meant now, same as him. John had never witnessed him having a vision, but Sam had been deeply bothered by it when he had met up with him and Dean again in Salvation. He was clearly trying so hard to use his visions for good, but being forced to use this new ability by Azazel must have made him feel like he was betraying them, betraying Dean.

"After that, Tara — that's the girl demon who was in the room — dragged me from his room and told me that I had to tell you about my experience being possessed and what happened with Sam." Marian shuddered. "They blindfolded me, and then…" Marian frowned again as she clearly tried to make sense of her memories. "It's hard to describe," she finally said. "I felt like everything was being displaced around me. The air felt different, and it was warmer like I was outside suddenly. They put me into a vehicle, and twenty minutes later, they pulled off the blindfold and shoved me out of the car here."

Marian fell silent, and John felt his brain kick into overdrive. The demons had been very careful in making sure that Marian had no clues about where she had been before coming here. Maybe if she could remember something about the building she and Sam had been in…

"There's one other thing Tara wanted me to tell you," Marian said hesitantly, and John raised his head to meet her eyes. "I don't really understand it, but she said looking for immediate signs won't work this time. He's made sure he can't be traced like that again, _but_ if you look for patterns in what you _have_ tracked in years previously, you might have a chance that way."

_Shit_. Dean let out a loud curse and bolted to his feet, storming from the room. Marian jumped, looking incredibly frightened.

"It's fine," John quickly said, wincing slightly as the front door was forcefully pulled open and slammed shut. "We understand the message. Dean's just upset because it's going to make our search for Sam a lot harder."

Marian looked out the door where Dean had gone. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

"Don't be," Bobby said, standing slowly. "You're just as much a victim of this as Sam is."

Marian nodded. "He doesn't look bad off," she offered, "I mean, apart from being choked and some older-looking injuries on his face, anyway. They were still feeding him. He's just stuck in that room with an observation mirror on one wall and a mattress for company."

John smiled, or at least tried to. "Thank you, Marian," he told her, standing himself. "I'm sorry you went through all this, but any news of my son is better than no news, no matter what the message is." He looked at Bobby. "You'll see about getting her home?"

"Of course," Bobby said, and John went out to go find Dean.

His oldest was sitting on the Impala's trunk with a beer in his hand. "Hey," John said softly, taking a seat on a nearby workbench.

"Hey," Dean replied before taking a sip of his beer. There was a long moment of silence.

"We can't give up, Dean," John finally said.

"I'm not," Dean said, looking over at John and revealing the wetness in his eyes, something John knew to be a very rare sight. "I just want Sammy back home, safe with us like he should be."

"I know," John sighed. "So do I, son."

"Christ, he must be so terrified," Dean said after another moment. "He was barely coping with the visions and the one burst of telekinesis, and now they're making him drink demon blood so he can exorcize demons with his mega-smart brain, too?" He shook his head and took another sip of his beer before looking over at John again.

"I tried making light of the visions before," he said, "but it all freaked me out just as much as it did him. I mean, between dreaming of Jess dying days before it happened, that family in our old house in Kansas, Max killing his family, that little girl's mom dying like Mom and Jess had…" Dean shuddered, clearly remembering the night Jessica Moore had died; John knew he had been the one to pull Sam from the apartment when it had happened, just as he had carried Sam from the house fire as a child.

"He's always struggled with nightmares, you know?" John nodded and Dean sighed. "It's so much fucking worse now that sometimes I don't think even _I_ can cope with it, and I know he knows it, too." Dean took another gulp of beer, and it suddenly struck John that he was seeing a side of his son that almost no one had ever witnessed. To be this open about Sam, about _himself_ told John how terrified the man really was. "He's always been so moody, but now he probably blames himself for Mom's death and I bet you anything he feels like using his brain to get rid of that demon in Marian was a downright betrayal to us." A tear finally escaped from one of the green eyes, and Dean angrily swiped at it. "He thinks he _betrayed_ me, Dad."

"He didn't," John finally said. "I know it, and so do you. We'll just have to convince him once we find him."

"And how the fuck do we even do that?" Dean exploded. "You heard her! Find a pattern in the past? We've got everywhere he's been between '72 and '83 before vanishing for over twenty years, and it's just about everywhere in the Midwest and tons of other places everywhere and in between!" He let loose a string of curses that rivaled an injured Marine in the line of duty and threw his empty beer bottle as hard as he could against the nearest junker, watching with heaving breaths as the glass exploded in the dying light.

"Dean, that's enough," John said, standing and crossing to his son's side. "I know it seems hopeless right now, but I tracked Azazel down before. We can do it again, and we _will_ do it. We'll save Sam, I promise you." Dean looked at him, and the broken-hearted look in his eyes was so much like Sam's, like _Mary's_ the night she had lost both her parents that it almost took John's breath away. He put up the wall in his heart again and tugged Dean off the Impala. "Let's go inside son, it's about time for bed."

Dean nodded mechanically and followed John inside, saying nothing until John was about to turn off the light in their room. "Dad?"

"Yeah, son?"

"Azazel's trying to make Sam go darkside, isn't he?"

John met his son's eyes, smiling slightly at Dean's wording. "I think that was always a large part of his plans," he said softly. "And not just Sam." He sighed before letting a little piece of the secret he kept fall free. "I believe he's looking to make an army, with kids like Sam as the soldiers, maybe even a leader or something."

"And he thinks that leader is Sam," Dean said flatly, and John nodded.

"He could very well be planning to have some kind of face-off between these children," he said, "but now he's given Sam an advantage over the rest. I honestly think that being able to exorcize demons is just the start of what Sam might be capable of now."

Dean swallowed hard before nodded. "Night, Dad," he whispered before turning away onto his other side. John closed his eyes for a moment before switching off the bedroom light and trying to fall asleep himself.

It was several hours before sleep came to either Winchester.

* * *

Sam slammed into the wall and gasped as he felt an ungodly pressure on his heart. Damn it all, but these demons just couldn't take 'no' for an answer, could they? He struggled weakly against the pressure holding him in place and heard a cry of pain escape his lips.

"You know," Thomas said casually, his right fist slowly continuing to close and causing the pressure on Sam's heart to increase, "once I kill you, I'm gonna go after that brother of yours. Daddy, too." He smirked, black eyes almost sparkling with excitement. "I bet their screams will be even worse once they find out you're gone for good. Although," he paused, thinking for a moment, "considering that they must know about the blood and your abilities after delivering that girl to them, how much effort do you really think they're putting into finding you, now? It's been almost three days, Sammy."

It was too much. Sam snapped. He could feel the blood in his veins, and he was suddenly free, on his feet. With barely a twitch of his own hand, Thomas was sent flying across the room, slamming into the one-way window and actually cracking the glass.

"Go. Back. To. Hell." Sam raised one hand, and Thomas was pinned on his knees, the demon inside slowly being choked out through his mouth before Hell cracked through to take back another one of its children. Sam slumped to the ground, watching as Thomas tried to put himself back together again.

"Shit," Thomas breathed as he watched Sam try to stand, "I almost killed you, kid."

"Wasn't you," Sam gasped out, slumping back against the wall, feeling drained beyond description. His nose was bleeding again, his head was pounding worse than the last time, and his heart? It felt like it was still beating, but with far less strength than it normally had. "It was that… that demon in you."

"But how'd you do that?" Thomas asked, stumbling to his feet and helping Sam over to the mattress in the corner. Sam collapsed onto it gratefully, still gasping for breath. "My uncle's a Hunter, and he has to do all this chanting in Latin to get rid of a demon."

Sam smiled without humor. "You know… what they've been giving me?" he asked between pants, and after a moment, Thomas nodded slowly.

"Demon's blood," he said quietly, and Sam closed his eyes briefly.

"I'm a new level… of freak," Sam managed. "I can do exorcisms with my mind." He smiled slightly. "Maybe your uncle can find me and… and put me out of my misery."

"Oh, we don't mean that, do we, Sammy?" The door had opened and Azazel entered with Tara and another demon named Buck in two. "Although, judging by the nosebleed and how exhausted you seem, I think the current doses you're getting three times a day aren't giving you enough juice to keep this up." His yellow eyes flashed. "We're upping them." He glanced at Tara. "Double his dosage."

Buck moved forward and hauled Thomas to his feet. "Anything to tell your family?" Azazel asked brightly, and Sam closed his eyes, still breathing hard and wishing to God his heart would gain strength again. There was so much he wanted to say to Dean, to his dad. _Don't find me, kill me if you_ do _find me, I'm terrified of myself…_

"No," Sam finally whispered, looking up at Thomas. "Just… find your uncle… okay?"

Thomas nodded and was pulled from the room, Tara following and leaving Sam and Azazel behind.

"Why won't you just do what I ask and save yourself the trouble of being hurt?" Azazel finally asked. He didn't sound angry so much as intensely curious.

Sam's head was pounding, and he desperately wanted to pass out and forget this nightmare for a few hours, if not forever, but he forced himself to meet those hated yellow eyes. "What's the point of all this?" Sam asked. "Where is all this even going?"

Azazel was silent for a long moment before moving forward and crouching in front of Sam. "I'm just doing as ordered," he said plainly. "I somehow doubt you can imagine just where all this is headed, but I can tell you this: once we get there, you'll wonder how you never managed to figure it out." He suddenly grinned. "In the meantime, I think I'll leave you with this little piece of knowledge."

Sam's vision was beginning to swim, and he flinched when Azazel leaned to whisper in his ear. When he pulled away, it took Sam a second to understand what the demon had just told him. "No," he whispered, "no, you can't."

"Oh, I can, Sammy," Azazel chuckled, standing up. "I can, and trust me, I will." With that, he turned and left the room.

For the first time in many, many years, Sam cried himself to sleep, feeling lonelier than he had ever felt at any other time in his life.


	6. Two Brothers

Two days after Marian left (she had contacted her parents, who purchased a plane ticket back to Washington to ensure her safe return the day after she'd shown up), a man with light brown hair, hazel eyes, and who looked to be around Dean's age stumbled onto Bobby's property. Once again, it was Dean who found the latest victim of Azazel's game.

"Please tell me this is the right place," the man said, startling Dean, who whirled around with a crowbar in hand before taking in the haggard man before him.

"It depends," Dean said, holding the crowbar steady. "Did you see Sam?"

The man nodded. "Name's Thomas," he offered. "Sam saved me from the demon possessing me." He paused. "Please tell me you're a Hunter."

Dean nodded. "Me, my dad, and Bobby Singer. Bobby owns this place. You one, too?"

"Not really," Thomas answered as Dean led him toward the house. "My uncle's one, but my dad never really let me get into it." He sighed as they entered the house. "I wish he had, now."

"I bet," Dean said with a small grin as John stepped out of the kitchen. "This is Thomas," he told his dad. "Same story as Marian."

John's face clouded for a moment. "Come on in," he finally said. "It's past lunchtime, but you must be hungry."

"Starved," Thomas answered easily, following John into the kitchen. "You are…?"

"John Winchester," John answered curtly. "Sam and Dean are my sons."

"Winchester," Thomas mused with a frown. "I think my uncle mentioned you once."

"Your uncle's a Hunter?" John asked.

"Yeah, his name's Gerald Humphrey."

"Ah," John said, "Gerry. I know him. You ever get into Hunting at all?"

"Nah," Thomas answered, "my dad didn't approve of Uncle Gerald's occupation and my mom never even knew what he did. I think she assumed he was with the CIA or something, the number of injuries he had over the years."

Dean gave a small chuckle and set about making a sandwich, followed by dumping some holy water into a glass. "You want some chips?" he asked, setting the plate and glass before Thomas.

"Yeah, that'd be great," Thomas answered before taking a long gulp of the water and then digging into his sandwich with gusto. John met Dean's eyes, questioning, and Dean shook his head in response before going to find a thing of chips and snagging his own bag of peanut M&M's. Just like Marian, Thomas was clean.

"So, where's this Bobby Singer you mentioned?" Thomas asked a few minutes later, snagging another handful of chips from the large bag Dean had found for him.

"In town, getting food and stuff," John answered. "Do you need some time to rest, or do you think you could go over what happened to you with us now?"

Thomas sighed and leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his short hair. "I got jumped at a diner in Texas," he said after a moment. "I think it musta been two weeks ago? Anyway, hurt like hell, and I can vaguely remember the things that demon did to other humans before that yellow-eyed bastard let him have a go at Sam…" He made a noise of disgust and shook his head. "He told the demon that was possessing me that Sam wasn't cooperating again, so the demon in me pinned him to the wall using his powers and…" He trailed off, a troubled look crossing his exhausted features.

"What did he do?" Dean asked, feeling the panic rise in his chest.

It took Thomas a moment to meet his eyes. "He was crushing his heart without even _touching_ him." Dean could see the horror buried beneath the exhaustion and shock. "I could _feel_ it, like it was in my hand and I was fucking _squeezing_ the life out of it." He sighed. "I know that wasn't me, that I'm not responsible for anything that demon did, but the guilt's still there, you know?"

"Yeah," John said, not quite meeting Dean's eyes. "I know."

Dean swallowed hard. "What happened next?" he asked, even though he already knew what was coming.

"The demon was taunting him, telling him he was gonna kill him and then come and kill you two." Thomas shuddered and reached for the glass of water. "Said he was gonna make you scream. And then he suggested that maybe you guys weren't looking as hard as you normally would because of what Sam is…"

"Sam isn't _anything_ ," Dean burst out. "He's my little brother, and nothing else."

The look Thomas gave him was so very serious it made Dean want to pummel the guy. "You know about the demon blood, right?" he asked softly, and Dean nodded after a moment. "Well, he snapped, used his powers to exorcize the demon out of me and got a massive nosebleed for his troubles. And then he told me he thought he was a new level of freak, said to find my uncle, even suggested Uncle Gerald should come find him and put him out of his misery."

Dean shoved out of his chair and started pacing as the anger built in him. Sam had worried endlessly about becoming evil, about turning out like Max Miller, and Dean could tell that Sam thought he had already become something worse.

_Sam wanted me to tell you he was sorry._

"Fuck!" Dean yelled, whirling around to face John and Thomas, both men looking startled by the sudden explicative. "Tell me you remember something, _anything_ useful about where they had him locked up!"

Thomas looked at him with pity in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "After the yellow-eyed demon told the girl demon to double his dosage I got hauled out and blindfolded. They stuffed me in a car yesterday and then today, dropped me off here."

"Wait," John said, "you drove all night?"

Dean spoke at the same time. "What d'you mean, double his dosage?"

Thomas looked between father and son, clearly unsure who to answer first. John sighed and ran a hand down the side of his face. "They meant doubling the amount of blood they give him every time, didn't they?"

Thomas nodded and Dean felt his heart freeze up. _More blood?_ "Why?" he croaked out.

"That yellow-eyed demon said Sam's powers needed more juice," Thomas answered sadly. "Sam looked like he was gonna pass out, maybe even go on to Death's door. Upping his dose is probably the only thing that'll keep him alive right now, cause there's no way they've been feeding him enough real food." He shook his head. "Kid looked wasted to me, and I think the demon may have even damaged his heart."

Dean shut his eyes tightly, the image of a thin, starving and beaten Sam huddled in a corner filling his mind's eye. He knew Sam was plenty strong and could manage without a whole lot of food in a pinch, but the things Thomas was telling him only served to increase his worry.

"Do you have any idea what time it was when you left wherever this place was?" John asked after a long moment of silence.

"I think it was around dusk," Thomas said after thinking hard for almost a minute. "I could feel the sun warming my face around the blindfold for a little bit before it faded and I passed out from exhaustion." He shook his head again. "Demons, man, they don't like sleeping much. I slept on and off the entire time with only one bathroom break, but it was this place where the restrooms were out back so no one could see that I was blindfolded." He paused. "I could tell Sam doesn't like what he's being put through, but I'm thankful he saved me before the demon could do my body any real harm."

How much more damage was Sam going to be put through before they could save him? Dean felt restless, angry and beyond terrified for his little brother. He tuned out of reality, ignoring the other questions John was asking about the place he'd been at and the drive over, drifting back into Bobby's study. On the large desk lay a map of the states with every place Azazel had visited marked. He stared long and hard at it before cursing and slamming his fist onto the tabletop.

He couldn't see a pattern. None of them could. According to their research, Azazel had been to every marked place exactly two times, all of the second times occurring in 1983, apart from the convent in Maryland and Stanford University, so if Dean could find something else, _anything_ else to explain the message given to them through Marian, then maybe…

John entered the study. "Thomas is resting," he said after a moment, fingering his cell phone in one hand. Dean grunted in reply. Finally, John stuffed his cell phone into his pocket and said, "I think we're going to have to find someone who can help."

"And who would that be?" Dean asked dully, still staring at the stupid map and wishing the answer to Marian's words would just pop off the paper.

"Her name's Ellen," John answered. "She owns a saloon that other Hunter's tend to frequent, so even if she can't help, chances are she knows someone who can."

Dean finally met his father's eyes. "We're running out of time, aren't we?" he asked softly. After a long moment, John nodded and left the room, leaving Dean to his thoughts once more.

* * *

It took three days before Sam seemed to recuperate from the damage inflicted by Thomas. Azazel noted that his breathing became easier and assumed his heart had recovered enough for another test. While he didn't much care about Sam's physical condition, he knew it needed to keep it sustained so the kid didn't check out on him.

During the days that Sam was healing, Azazel saw another change in the young man. True to his orders, Tara had started doubling his dosages, and while it was obvious Sam didn't want to drink the blood, he no longer had to have his oxygen cut off in order to get the blood down his throat. They still had to hold him down and force his mouth open, though, so it wasn't perfect progress by any stretch of the imagination, but the fact that Sam was actually _swallowing_ the blood of his own volition was wonderful progress to Azazel.

Someday the boy would be the perfect vessel.

Sam was currently asleep on his mattress. Or maybe he was just unconscious. It didn't matter, one way or the other, but the way the boy was starting to lose weight was a little bit worrisome. "What kinds of food does he normally eat on the road with his brother?" he asked Buck.

"Kid's actually kind of a healthy food freak," Buck answered easily, having carefully tracked the Winchester boys for a few months a while back. "His brother'll eat anything, especially if it's extra greasy or super sugary, but this one does salads and wheat bread sandwiches, always the healthiest thing he can find wherever they go." He shook his head, looking slightly amused. "I heard the brother telling him he was eating nothing but rabbit food once, and he responded by saying his brother was gonna get fat, the way he ate."

"So, a healthy, balanced diet?" Azazel summed up, and Buck nodded.

"Well, as best as he could find, the places they've been to," he amended.

"Hmmm." Azazel returned his gaze to Sam's sleeping form. The boy wasn't one to stay very still in his sleep, but he rarely muttered anything aloud unless he was having a nightmare, such as the one he had suffered the night previous. Azazel didn't much care about what went on in that boy's brain, but Sam's muttering about being a monster really put Azazel in tune with how Sam truly felt about what was happening to him.

John and Dean had taught him their perspective so damn well that the kid thought he turning into the sort of things their family hunted and killed. Not that this was _too_ far off from the truth, but Sam would never see these gifts as anything other than a curse while in Azazel's hands.

Dean's voice from so long ago suddenly echoed in his mind. _"You look into my eyes, you sonovabitch, because I'm the one who kills you."_

Azazel turned and headed to another room where the Colt was safely stored away. He stared at the damn gun, remembering the look in Dean's eyes as he told him he would kill him someday. _How much have I changed by this one act?_ he wondered, thinking of the night he had walked away in Sam's body with the Colt in his hands at long last. _Is the path different, or will the ending stay the same?_ After all, there was only one way Dean would be able to get his hands on the gun again, but that chance wasn't due to arrive for a few more months. He knew how he could easily claim John's soul in exchange for Sam's freedom, but the fact of the matter was that the man was probably not going to be the one to break the first Seal.

And then another thought occurred to him, one he had never considered. _Two brothers._ The angels had yet to show their high and mighty faces, which could only mean they were waiting for something to happen. Although, if it hadn't been for their original interference, sending an older Dean back in time, chances were he might never have found Mary, might never have made the Deal with her, might never have found Sam.

Everything had started with two brothers, hadn't it? Every demon knew the story, and he imagined every angel up the sky knew it, too. _Two brothers…_ What if the angels' current lack of interference in his plans for Sam and the other children he had fed demon blood meant they _wanted_ the Apocalypse to happen, too?

Well. That just made things more interesting then, didn't it? Azazel grinned, secured the Colt once more, and set about assigning another demon to learn about healthy foods in order to restore Sam's health. He was definitely going to need it.


	7. The Roadhouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes some dialogue and action from 2.02 "Everybody Loves a Clown".

For over a week following Thomas' exorcism, Sam was allowed to recuperate. True, they still made him drink demon blood three times a day, and yes, the amount of blood made him want to be sick on one level while another craved what he got and lusted after more, but he was getting more sleep, and one demon was actually working on redeveloping his food intake. Sam was surprised by how healthy his meals suddenly were, with plenty of colors, fiber, and healthy amounts of protein.

During that time, Sam had another muddled vision, this time with a guy who appeared to be Dean shooting someone he couldn't make out in a place that might have been a clinic. Or something. It left him feeling very confused. He also found it was getting easier to control the telekinesis, and he'd spend hours moving various objects the demons brought him through the air, practicing balance and fine motor control. The fact that none of these objects were hard, heavy or sharp didn't escape his attention, and even though he hated himself for his curiosity, he couldn't bring himself to stop anymore.

" _As long as I'm around, nothing bad is gonna happen to you."_

Dean had tried so hard to stay strong for him, had listened to him, stayed by his side through everything, and now Sam was alone. And _a lot_ of bad things were happening to him. Dean had always been there, every time Sam needed him, and every time he didn't. Sam had always looked up to him, trusted him in ways he had never trusted his father. No matter what trouble he ended up in, Dean had always come to the rescue, but now, as the days dragged on, Sam found he was starting to lose hope, thinking that maybe it was best if his dad and Dean never found him. He didn't deserve to be saved, didn't deserve a brother like Dean. He was tainted and losing sight of the faith he had carried in his heart as a child despite the horrors that he knew lay beneath the shadows. For the first time, he really understood Dean's lack of faith in angels and even God. How could someone so powerful and wonderful allow so many bad things like this to happen?

The plastic ball Sam had levitated suddenly dropped to the ground, bouncing a few times before rolling away and coming to a stop in the far corner of the room. There was no help coming for Sam, no salvation and definitely no forgiveness. So, what was the point of fighting? He'd been marked since before he was born, after all.

_I'm sorry_. Mary's apology that night in Kansas suddenly made a lot more sense. She had made the deal to save John and damned Sam's life in the process. And yet, Sam couldn't hate her for it. He didn't think she'd known exactly what Azazel was going to do ten years down the line. Hell, for all he knew, she had forced herself to forget everything until the night she died. Sam imagined she had run away from the world of Hunting, from the supernatural just as he had, and they had both paid dearly for it. And now, Sam didn't think there was a reason to hold onto his hope, to keep fighting. Azazel was going to win.

" _Aren't you worried that I could turn into Max?"_

And suddenly, Sam found the reason for why he should keep fighting.

" _Nope. No way. You know why?"_

" _No. Why?"_

"' _Cause you got one advantage that Max didn't have."_

" _Dad? Because Dad's not here, Dean."_

" _No. Me."_

Sam closed his eyes, remembering every time Dean had been there to catch him, to support him, to knock some sense into him, to save him. Sam loved his dad, but Dean had _always_ been there. Dean, who told him the truth, who looked out for him when no one else cared. Yes, Sam felt damned, felt like a freak, but if he knew anything with absolute certainty, it was that Dean would tear the world apart to find him, to save him. Dean would want him to stay strong. Dean would never want Sam to give in to these cravings for demon blood.

Just then, the door to Sam's room opened and Tara entered, carrying a fresh bowl of demon blood while the two burly demons followed behind her. "Time for your dinner dose," she said with a light smile.

Sam would stay strong because he knew that was what his big brother would want, and Sam trusted him above all others. So, he put on the best smirk he could manage as he met Tara's eyes.

"Make me," was all he said.

* * *

"Here?" Dean asked skeptically.

"Yes," John answered with a snort. "She's waiting for us, c'mon."

Shaking his head, Dean slid out of the Impala, taking in the building before them. It looked pretty sturdy, but pretty old, too. "Harvelle's Roadhouse," Dean said aloud. "How do you know this Ellen, again?"

"Husband was a Hunter," John answered, striding toward the entrance.

"Was?" Dean questioned. John paused just before grabbing the door's handle and another one of those sad looks crossed his eyes briefly.

"We had a bad hunt together," he said after a moment. "He didn't make it."

"Oh," Dean said, shifting awkwardly. "Sorry."

John sighed and scrubbed at his face. "It was a long time ago," he said, and pulled the door open. Dean silently followed him inside.

There were a few men seated in one corner who looked up when John and Dean entered, eyeing John before nodding respectfully. John nodded back and approached the counter where a brunnete was cleaning glasses. "Hey, Ellen," John said, actually looking a little uncomfortable.

"Hey, John," Ellen replied with a warm smile, setting down the glass in her hand and coming around the counter. She pulled John into a hug and the awkwardness dissolved at once. "It's been too long."

"Yeah," John said with a small smile of his own. "That it has. How's Jo?"

"Good, she's out back right now," Ellen said before catching sight of Dean. "This your oldest?"

"Hi," Dean said, holding out a hand. "Dean."

"Nice to meet you, Dean," Ellen said, taking the proffered hand and giving it a firm handshake. "Don't you have another boy?" she asked John.

"Yeah, Sam," John sighed. "He's the reason we're here."

Ellen's face was immediately troubled. "What happened?"

John glanced at the other Hunters in the corner. "Could we talk somewhere more private?" he asked. "It's really complicated." Ellen eyed John for a moment.

"Yeah," she said, "yeah, I can do that. Jo!" she called as the back door slammed.

"What?" a girl's voice shouted back.

"I need to watch the bar for me, okay?"

Dean watched as a young blonde stepped out from the back room. "Yeah, sure," she said, eyeing Dean for a moment. He couldn't help but return the look, earning an eye roll from his father and a playful smirk from Jo.

"Thanks," Ellen said before guiding John and Dean into a private room. "All right, John, what's going on? Did you find that demon?"

"Wait, you knew about it?" Dean asked. Ellen shrugged.

"News travels fast," was all she said before returning her gaze to John.

"Yeah, I found it," John answered after a long moment. He explained about the Colt, the deaths of Jim Murphy and Caleb, the demon Meg wanting the Colt, Sam's visions, being possessed by Azazel, and the showdown in the small cabin in the middle of nowhere. "And then he left, still possessing Sam and with the Colt in hand."

John paused and Ellen finally spoke up. "Your son was given demon blood that night?" she asked softly, a look of shock and sadness ghosting over her face. John sighed and nodded. "My God, John, that's awful. How was he even coping with that?"

"Not well," Dean answered. "Before we knew about the blood, it was just those damn visions, and it really freaked him out. He honestly thought he was going to turn darkside. Didn't matter what I said to him and I bet knowing what happened the night Mom died is eating him up inside right now." He shook his head, thinking of his little brother. "It gets worse, though."

"What could be worse?" Ellen asked, looking between John and Dean. John picked up the story again, talking briefly about Dean's stay in the hospital before going on to describe trying to track everywhere Azazel had been in the past to see if they could possibly narrow the search for the special children whose mother's hadn't died in house fires. "He strongly favors the Midwest," John added after a moment. "We were also trying to find signs of where he might be currently, but then a girl named Marian turned up at Bobby's place."

Ellen paled as John told her Marian's story about being possessed and Sam saving her by using the powers granted to him through the demon blood they were feeding him. "More blood?" she cut in. "Why the hell are they doing that?"

"Increases the number of abilities he possesses," John sighed. "It also increases how powerful those abilities are." Then he explained Marian's message about Azazel hiding himself and finding a pattern in the past.

"The problem is that we can't find a pattern," John said. "The only thing we know for certain is that this place, wherever it is, it's almost a full day's drive from Bobby's place in Sioux Falls, and we only learned that when Thomas Humphrey showed up two days after Marian left."

"Wait, another one turned up that Sam… saved?"

"Yeah," John answered. "Even better, his uncle's Gerald Humphrey."

"As in Hunter Gerry?" Ellen asked, and John nodded. "God, he was here two weeks back, looking for clues to find his missing nephew. So, a demon had him the entire time?"

"Yes, ma'am," Dean said.

"Anyway," John said, "we need help trying to find a pattern that tells us where Sam and Azazel are hidden."

Ellen leaned back against the wall, thinking for a moment. "Ash is your best bet," she said after a moment. "He's brilliant with computers and stuff. C'mon, I'll introduce you."

They went back into the main room and took seats at the bar where Jo immediately handed over two bottles of beer. Dean smiled in thanks and immediately took a long swig. Meanwhile, he watched as Ellen headed to another room and knocked on a door.

"Ash!" she yelled.

"What?" a man yelled back.

"Get out here, I got some friends who need to make use of your computer skills."

The door opened and a slightly pudgy man with a mullet to crown all others came out, wearing a plaid shirt with the sleeves ripped off and scuffed-up jeans and boots. Ellen led him over to John and Dean, quickly made the introductions, and sat back so John could explain what he needed.

Ash looked through John's notes before letting out a long whistling sound. "You tracked a demon like this?" he asked, sounding impressed, and John nodded.

"Took awhile to put together," he said, "but yeah, I did."

"This is incredible," Ash told John, "I mean, damn, the nonparametric statistical overviews, cross-spectrum correlations… I ain't never seen anyone track a demon by the signs that flared up around it."

"I know," John said, sounding slightly impatient, and, Dean thought, looking a little embarrassed by the unexpected praise, "but we can't find a pattern that tells us where he is _now_ , and that's what we need."

Ash stared at John's notes again. "A pattern," he muttered before looking up. "Well, I can fix up something that should at least help out if not solve the problem for us, but that's gonna take some time."

"How long?" John asked.

"Say uh…" Ash debated for a moment before saying, "fifty-one hours." He quickly gathered the research and walked away without another word. Dean blinked after him, slightly stunned.

"That's Ash for you," Ellen said after a moment.

"Where'd you find that guy?" Dean asked. "He looks more like a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie than a genius."

"He got kicked out of M.I.T. for fighting," Ellen answered with a chuckle, "but trust me, if anyone can put together what you need, it's Ash."

John nodded, and then Dean saw his gaze shift. "That a case back there?" he asked, nodding at a folder placed next to a police scanner.

Ellen looked over. "What? Oh, yeah," she said, standing and heading behind the bar, "I was gonna give this to a friend of mine, but if you want…" John nodded his answer and Ellen snagged the folder, handing it over.

"Dad?" Dean asked as John quickly flipped through the folder.

John sighed and shut the folder before looking at Dean. "We've got over two days before Ash can get us anything," he said, "and Bobby'll be in contact should anything or anyone show up at his place. In the meantime — "

"You're seriously considering working a case while Sam's still missing?" Dean asked, only just remembering to keep his voice down so as not to attract the attention of the other Hunters. "Dad, we need to find him, not mess around with other shit that's got nothin' to do with him!"

"Dean, there is _nothing_ that we can do for Sam right now," John snapped. "We still don't know where he is, and it's been almost a _week_ since Thomas came through. There's just too little intel to get us anywhere right now, and I can tell that you need to be doing something, _anything_ right now. So do I."

Dean scowled and looked away, knowing his dad was right, and resenting it at the same time. He wanted, no, _needed_ to find Sam, but until some new information came up, they had nothing. "What's the case?" he asked, looking back at John.

"Apparently, it's a killer clown that disappears after it kills a child's parents," John answered, already leafing through the folder again.

"A killer clown?" Dean echoed before grinning and shaking his head wryly. "Maybe it _is_ a good thing that Sam ain't here right now."

"What? Why?" John asked, looking up. Dean felt his grin widen.

"Remember the first time he saw Ronald McDonald?" he asked. John seemed to be drawing a blank for a moment before he broke into a grin of his own and started chuckling.

"He's still not over that?" he asked.

"Nope," Dean said.

John nodded. "Anyway, this case isn't too far away, just over in Medford. Ash should be done by the time we finish this case." He dropped some money on the countertop for the beers. "Thanks for everything, Ellen."

"Of course," Ellen replied, leaning on the bar with a sad smile on her face. "You two be careful, ya hear? That boy of yours needs you both alive and sharp."

John smiled back, nodded, and headed back out to the car. "See ya in a couple days," Dean called over his shoulder before shutting the door behind him.

Dean slid into the passenger seat, watching as John dug around his tape collection before pulling out a battered copy of Styx and popping it in, the opening notes of "The Grand Illusion" rolling over Dean as he settled against the seat. Hopefully this case would make the time go by faster, if not ease the aching worry in Dean's heart at the thought of Sam on his own without protection.

And then Dean gave an inward snort. Nothing could ease that worry. Nothing, except finding Sam alive and sane. The whole demon blood thing didn't matter so much as Sam's well-being did. _Hang on, Sammy,_ he thought as John hit the highway. _I'll find you soon, I swear._


	8. When Dreaming Ends

The brass pipe in John's hands shuddered as it hit home, driving right into the guts of the invisible rakshasa. He grimaced as the thing shrieked and collapsed and then went to turn off the steam vent Dean had opened while his son removed the throwing knives that pinned him to the wall of the funhouse they were currently standing in.

John turned to see a pile of clothes in the shape of the man on the ground, the brass pipe lying on top, its tip covered in blood. "I hate funhouses," Dean muttered, coming to stand beside him.

"I hear ya," John replied, shaking his head. "Let's get this cleaned up and get outta here."

Dean nodded as they quickly gathered up the rakshasa's clothes and pipe and left, making sure they were a fair distance away from prying eyes before burning the bundle and retrieving the Impala.

The hunt hadn't been particularly hard, the easy rapport John had with his son making the research and planning relatively easy. But unlike the years when Sam had been at Stanford, the underlying worry about the youngest Winchester was far more rampant in both John and Dean, causing them to each lose focus at pivotal points in the job that could have easily cost them their lives. John hoped that Ash had some good news for them when they reached Ellen's place.

"Okay, here's what I put together," Ash said, setting a laptop that looked as though it had been scavenged together using cannibalized bits of machinery on the bar counter. "I got it set up to track all those demonic omens before anything else, and you're right, that nasty sonovabitch ain't nowhere to be found right now."

John nodded, trying to stay patient. "Go on."

"As for this pattern that you were told about…" Ash trailed off before shaking his head. "Couldn't find anything at first."

"At first?" Dean questioned.

Ash nodded. "I had the narrow the search parameters pretty drastically to find it, and it was hidden beneath a bunch of other mumbo jumbo," he answered. "What's interesting is that it had nothing to do with a lot of the places he's been. As a matter of fact, only the first two years' of his travels made any kind of pattern. The rest is a bunch of busywork to hide what we need."

John frowned and leaned in to stare at the laptop's screen as Ash brought up a window showing the "pattern" he'd found. Azazel's first appearance had been at the St. Mary's convent in Ilchester, Maryland, 1972. From there, he had made a steady trek across the country, straight through Lawrence, Kansas, and ended in —

"California?" Dean asked over John's shoulder.

"Look at the shape," Ash said, gesturing to the locations marked on a map in the next window. John stared at the shape; its ends were clearly marked in Ilchester, Maryland and Los Angeles, California. Everything in between filled in what looked to be the shape of a jagged line, almost like a broken arrow.

"L.A.?" John looked up at Ash, who nodded his head.

"Narrowing down the exact location's gonna be the hard part," he said. "I'm still trying to work on that one, but I'm guessing we can assume your boy's in some kind of warehouse, and L.A.'s full of 'em dockside. Tons are abandoned or waitin' to be rented out, and he could be in any one of 'em."

John nodded. "Any idea how long that'll take?"

Ash shrugged. "It really depends on the other demons that are with your son. See," and he scooted his chair closer to the laptop, "Azazel's hiding out, but not all the other demons can possibly do the same. They're not as active right now for whatever reason, but L.A.'s already got elevated activity compared to any other place in the entire country. The moment they _really_ start acting up again, I'll know and I'll be able to use that to pinpoint the exact location."

"Good," John said. He gave Ash his number with the instructions to call him the moment he got the information they needed and turned to Dean. "We need to head back to Bobby's, put together a plan to get Sam out."

Dean nodded, but John could see he was itching to just jump in the Impala and drive straight to California without any backup or any idea of what they could come across. "It's hard, son, I get it," he said softly, and Dean swallowed hard before nodding.

They left the Roadhouse shortly after that, clambered back into the Impala and started the journey back to South Dakota.

* * *

Sam learned pretty quickly that while he could continue to put up a fight over drinking more demon blood, he could not avoid using the various powers at his disposal if he wanted to stay alive.

Today was a fine example of this principle.

Vashta was a pretty powerful demon compared to the ones that had possessed Marian and Thomas. And Vashta, well, she wasn't going back to Hell without a fight. In fact, she seemed pretty determined to have Sam's guts on a stick before the day was out, and even made a startling revelation.

"I hate Azazel," she snarled in Sam's face as she mentally held him against the wall. "I fucking _hate_ his plans, how no one but him knows the end game. All I really know is we don't need you humans to lead us. Fuck, I'd live a long and happy life if I could see every last human on this planet down in Hell."

"Good for you," Sam choked out.

Vashta stared at him for a moment before she grinned. "Would _you_ like to experience a level of Hell, Sammy?"

"It's _Sam_ , bitch," Sam snarled, and Vashta started laughing.

"Well, _there's_ the Sam Winchester I've heard so much about," she chuckled. "You'd still rather not fight me, though, right?"

Sam didn't answer her. He knew Dean would want him to focus on staying alive until he could find and save him, but maybe it'd be better this way if she killed him here and now.

Vashta leaned in even closer. "You ready for this, Sammy? It's gonna hurt worse than anything you've ever experienced." And she reached out to place her fingers on Sam's temples.

Everything exploded. For a moment that seemed to take an eternity, Sam felt nothing but pain radiating throughout every inch of his being. It was like every injury he had ever suffered was hitting every part simultaneously, but ten times worse than anything he had ever felt before. He thought he might be screaming, and then —

He shot up in bed, breathing harshly, tears running down his cheeks.

"Sam? What's wrong, are you okay?"

No. It was impossible. She was dead. But the bedside lamp clicked on and Jess was sitting before him, running her hand through his hair with a concerned look on her face, same as every other time he was woken up from yet another nightmare. Sam couldn't slow his breathing down, staring into Jess's warm eyes, seeing her curly blonde hair cascade down her shoulders, feeling her hands as they gently touched him.

Sam had been plagued by incomprehensible nightmares for as long as he could remember. When he had still been with his family, Dean had always comforted him when he woke up, gasping for breath. When he had come to Stanford, he had scared off a few roommates that first year before his friend Brady introduced him to Jessica Moore. The first night they spent together, Sam had woken from yet another nightmare he could barely make sense of, and when it had woken Jess, Sam had felt beyond embarrassed and expected things to be over.

Jess had been a real turning point for him. She had instantly come to his side and comforted him. Sam had been surprised by this, even went so far to admit that this happened almost every night, but it hadn't mattered to Jess. "You never remember what you dream about, right?" she had asked. When Sam shook his head, she had given a shrug, said, "Well, then, it doesn't matter so long as you're all right" and pulled him into her arms. After that, Sam had slept pretty peacefully for months after, until the visions of her death suddenly started.

"This is impossible," Sam gasped out, pulling away and shaking his head. "You died, Jess. I'm just dreaming."

Jess frowned, one hand still suspended in the air. "I never died, Sam," she said slowly, a horribly confused look on her face. "Did you have another nightmare?"

Sam's chest was still heaving. "No, it's been eight months since the fire," he said before allowing his eyes to dart around the room. He almost stopped breathing.

It was their apartment. Nothing looked different or out of place at all. "What?" he gasped out, struggling with the sheets so he could stand. "No, this isn't real, it all burned, and you died!"

"Sam!" Jess cried, moving closer and stopping him before he could make it to his feet. "Sam, calm down, you just had a really bad dream, I'm fine! Look at me."

God, how he wanted to. She was beautiful, everything Sam had ever wanted for himself, but he had lost her almost a year ago now, right? Azazel had killed her, he remembered it…

Jess was staring at him, still looking worried and confused, but he could still see the love in her eyes, and it broke his heart all over again. This couldn't be real, it just couldn't, but he could feel her hands on his skin, smell the faint traces of the perfume she wore…

"What day is it?" he asked softly. Jess smiled, even though the worry was still evident in her features.

"Monday," she said. "The interview? It's in like, ten hours."

And now Sam was even _more_ confused. "Interview… Oh, right," he said lamely. Jess had died in the early hours of the morning he was set to have his interview for that law school full ride scholarship. So much had happened… Except none of it had. He should have still been with Dean on his way back to Jess, but it suddenly seemed none of that had taken place. _I don't understand_ , he thought, rubbing at his eyes before focusing on Jess again.

"You think you can sleep now?" she asked. Sam nodded silently, relishing when Jess leaned forward and pressed her lips to his before curling under the covers again.

Maybe it _had_ been nothing but a long-lasting nightmare. Sam took a calming breath and went to turn off the bedside light.

The moment it flicked off, the bedroom door burst open and a dark figure strode in. Sam tried to sit up, but a wave of the figure's hand pinned him to the bed. And then Jess shrieked as she suddenly flew up to the ceiling, staring down at Sam with genuine horror in her expression.

"NO!" Sam screamed. "NO, JESS!"

He couldn't do anything, couldn't move, couldn't access those damn powers he was supposed to have. Jess gasped, _screamed_ as her stomach was slashed, and the figure started _laughing_ , and Sam knew that laugh from somewhere, some part of him _knew_ who the figure was, because there were no yellow eyes glinting in the darkness, and that meant Azazel _hadn't_ been the one who killed Jess that night —

And then the Jess above him burst into flames.

Sam screamed, _bellowed_ his despair, unable to tear his eyes away from Jess as the flames ate her alive once again, and there was no hope, no salvation from any of this…

He never quite figured out how he did it, but suddenly he was standing again and Vashta was flying across the room, a look of genuine surprise on her stolen face. She hit the ground hard, skidding a few extra feet before finally stopping. She groaned as she slowly sat up.

"How did you get out?" she gasped out. "The dream-memory merge I did isn't supposed to end until I _say_ it does."

_"Fuck. You,"_ Sam bit out. "I lost _everything_ that night, you bitch. You had _no right_ , showing me that." He stuck out one hand and Vashta screamed as her insides were twisted unnaturally. A small part of Sam's mind couldn't believe he was actually torturing someone like that; there was still a human girl inside the body before him, but Sam's rage at watching Jess die all over again overrode his normal instincts.

"There was only _one_ good thing to come out of what you just made me see," Sam told Vashta as he dropped his hand and watched her gasp for breath. "Now I know Azazel only put out the order to have Jess killed. Someone else did it, and when I find him, he'll suffer just as much as I'm gonna make _you_ suffer."

Vashta's hand shot out suddenly, and Sam was propelled back against the wall, cracking his head and making his vision black out for a moment. He dropped to his knees, but forced himself to focus, meeting Vashta's gleaming eyes with his own.

"Bring it on, Sammy," Vashta whispered, and Sam's face contorted in rage. Only Dean got to call him that, and _no one else._

He was dimly aware of Azazel and Tara watching from the second floor of the abandoned warehouse they were in, his focus on the female before him. Vashta rose to her feet and they started stalking each other in a wide circle.

Sam had realized early on that while he could go after any demon shoved into the same room as him, Azazel and Tara were off-limits. He desperately wanted to take the both of them down, but the fact of the matter was that without those two, the other demons wouldn't hesitate to swarm him and kill him where he stood. If he wanted to see Dean or his dad again, then he had to stay under Azazel's thumb. That was the only way the other demons would stay away unless ordered to fight.

Vashta struck first, knocking Sam off his feet with a twitch of her hand. Sam quickly recovered, using his power to fling Vashta across the room once again, but she managed to roll to her feet and then she was running at him, hatred burning in her black eyes. Sam thrust out a hand and she skidded to a halt on her knees, gasping as Sam ruthlessly set about crushing her lungs.

" _She's possessed. That's a human possessed by a demon, can't you tell?"_

Bobby's voice suddenly broke through the anger, and the rage melted away. Sam jolted backwards, eyes wide and chest heaving as he realized he was killing the girl before him, and his hand dropped slightly.

That was all Vashta needed.

Sam gasped as the demon slammed into him, knocking him to the ground and forcing the air from his lungs. "You're gonna pay for damaging this body, Sammy," Vashta said breathlessly, gripping his throat with both hands and squeezing for all she was worth.

Which was a lot.

Sam could feel his windpipe being crushed beneath Vashta's hands as he gasped desperately for air. He scrabbled at her hands, trying to make them release their grasp, but he knew it was useless, there was no way she was gonna stop until he was dead.

_NO!_

It was like something under constant pressure finally snapped. It snapped, and Sam knew deep down that there was no going back. It took a little effort, but he broke Vashta's hold on his neck with his bare hands and head-butted her, sending her flat on her ass as he gasped for air and clutched at his now-throbbing head. He'd had enough of all of this.

Lurching forward, Sam shoved Vashta flat on her back, bodily holding her down as he exorcized the demon from within the human body before him. It took so much more effort to do so, given how powerful Vashta was compared to the demons that had been in Marian and Thomas, and he saw blood from his nose drip onto her shirt as the black smoke was choked out from the human girl's lips. Then he banished it back to Hell before slumping off the girl and nearly face-planting into the hard concrete floor.

Weak, wet-sounding coughing reached his ears, and he finally raised his pounding head to stare the girl. She was coughing up blood, looking far more battered and broken than she had before. Sam closed his eyes tightly, knowing already that the girl was dying, that it was too late for her. And it was all his fault.

He started when two demons seized him under his arms and pulled him to his feet. Azazel was standing on the other side of the girl. "Inhuman strength," he said as though he were merely commenting on the weather and not another freakish skill that Sam now had. "Still getting headaches with that nosebleed there?"

Sam nodded dully.

"Well, by now I think that'll go away the more you practice," Azazel said with a shrug. Then he turned and faced Tara, who was still on the second landing of the warehouse. "Did you catch all that?" he asked.

Sam looked up and was shocked to realize that Tara had been holding a camcorder in her hands the entire time. "I did," Tara answered with a wicked grin. "Think they'll get a kick outta this?"

"Of course," Azazel replied. "Send the girl with it as soon as she's dead." Which the girl didn't look to be too far from, Sam thought bleakly.

_You can't save everyone_ , he told himself as the demons guided him back to his room where Derrick was waiting with food. Sam wasn't hungry, but he knew Derrick wouldn't leave him alone until he ate at least half of what was there. And he knew the guilt that assuaged him for the way he had hurt that girl wouldn't leave him alone. Ever.

The fact of the matter was that Sam had to survive this, and that meant using these damn powers the demon blood gave him until his family found him. He had to hold onto the hope that John and Dean were still searching, that they _would_ find him and help him get over all of this. And then he remembered what Azazel had said to him nearly two weeks previously and wondered if he was really worth the price Azazel had set. And he had to admit to himself that as much as he wanted to be rescued, he couldn't imagine he was worth it. Not like that.

"It's getting harder to pretend, isn't it?" Derrick suddenly said. Sam looked up from his meatloaf.

"Pretend?" he echoed and Derrick smiled in a way that was almost sad. Sam made himself look away.

"To pretend that life goes on without you in the wake," he answered, resettling himself next to Sam without looking at him. "We know that's exactly what you tried to do when you went to Stanford. Hell, you kept trying to hold onto that illusion for the last year, didn't you?"

Sam looked away, unable to answer. But Derrick was right. It _was_ getting harder to pretend. In fact, he knew he couldn't pretend anymore. There may be others out there with psychic abilities, but in the end, Sam knew that somehow, this was all about him.

" _It had to be you, Sammy. It_ always _had to be you."_

The unknown, female voice suddenly penetrated his skull, spiking his headache once more. Where the hell had that come from? He rubbed his forehead with a wince, ignoring the inquisitive look Derrick shot him before making himself focus on his food once more.

_Where is this all going?_ he wondered for what felt like the millionth time since Azazel that taken him from his family. He knew this was bigger than anything he had ever come across, and he prayed that he'd be able to figure it out and somehow put a stop to it before he lost everyone he cared about.

_Yeah, right. Like I'll ever manage that._


	9. Influence

The sound of someone clearing their throat behind Dean made him spin around at once, crowbar in hand once again. It was another girl, but she had dark hair and green eyes to Marian's blonde hair and brown eyes.

"Dean Winchester, right?" the girl asked in a voice that seemed pleasant enough, but with a smile on her face that was just wrong somehow.

"Yeah, that's me," Dean said, lowering the crowbar slightly. "And you are?"

"A messenger," the girl said, and her eyes flashed black. Dean backed away at once.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he ground out harshly and the girl laughed.

"Chill out," she said, "I'm not here to kill you or anyone else. I'm only delivering two things today."

"And those are?"

The demon smiled. "First off," she said, pulling out a CD jewel case from her jacket and tossing it to Dean, "there's some lovely footage on that. The other is this body here. So long." That was the only warning Dean got before the demon was pouring from the girl's mouth, streaking away into the fading light. The girl's body crumpled to the ground at once and Dean rushed forward, pulling her into his arms and feeling frantically for a pulse.

There was none.

"Dammit," Dean muttered, laying the girl back down before staring at the jewel case in his other hand. Part of him wanted to rush straight to Sam's laptop to see what the disc contained, but he was scared of what it might show him about his brother.

"Dean?" It was Bobby. "What the hell's goin' on out here? I thought I saw a demon zoomin' off into the sunset."

"You did," Dean answered shortly, standing and staring down at the dead girl at his feet. He held up the disc. "It delivered this disc and left the body behind."

"Damn," Bobby swore, taking in the sight of the dead body before him. "Okay, leave this to me, son. I'll take care of it."

Dean nodded and headed inside to find his dad. John was in Bobby's study again, researching hex bags or something; Dean didn't much care what his dad found that couldn't help Sam. "Dad?"

"Yeah?" John looked up and took in the jewel case in Dean's hand. "What's that?"

"Demon dropped it off," Dean answered, heading over to Sam's laptop and booting it up. "Said there was some footage on it we needed to see. I'm guessing it's a video of Sam being forced to use his powers."

John nodded silently as he sat down next to Dean. "The demon left its body behind after it gave me the disc," Dean added, "but Bobby already said he'd take care of it — her."

John closed his eyes for a long moment before nodding and gesturing at the disc in Dean's hand. Trying to swallow down his trepidation, Dean inserted the disc and waited for it to begin playing.

What he and John saw was not to either man's liking.

Sam was clearly in a warehouse, and he was being thrown around by another demon possessing the body of the dead girl outside. Dean frowned when he realized Sam wasn't fighting back and wondered if his brother was still putting up a fight over being fed demon blood.

" _Would_ you _like to experience a level of Hell, Sammy?"_ the demon asked Sam as she held him pinned to a wall.

" _It's_ Sam _, bitch,"_ Sam bit out and Dean couldn't help but smile at his little brother's stubborn will.

" _Well,_ there's _the Sam Winchester I've heard so much about,"_ the demon said with a laugh. _"You'd still rather not fight me, though, right?"_

Sam didn't answer the demon, and the camera zoomed in on his face from whatever higher level it was being held at. Dean stared at him for a moment before swearing under his breath.

"What?" John asked.

"It's his 'Dean wants me to be strong but it'd be better if I just let the bitch kill me' look," Dean answered. John stared at Dean for a moment.

"How d'you know that?" he asked softly.

Dean couldn't help but snort "What _don't_ I know about that kid?" and completely missed the sorrowful look that crossed his father's face.

The demon leaned in closer to Sam and Dean could barely make out what she was saying. _"You ready for this, Sammy? It's gonna hurt worse than anything you've ever experienced."_ She reached out to place her fingers on Sam's temples.

And Sam _screamed._

Dean had heard his brother in pain before. Broken arms, strangulation, beatings, some torture, but this… _This_ was the scream of the damned. Sam's back arched off the wall, his eyes screwed shut and his head thrown back. It went one for what felt like forever before Sam gasped and went limp, appearing to be unconscious.

Dean felt as though his heart had stopped and proceeded to fall into the acid of his stomach and intestines. He vaguely noticed his father didn't look much better, but his attention was still on his younger brother. He watched every little detail of his brother's face, so when the barest of twitches ran across it, Dean noticed and leaned forward. The twitches slowly began to get worse and more noticeable until Sam's head suddenly jerked back against the wall and he gasped in pain, his eyes still shut tight. Dean wondered what the demon was doing to his brother.

And then Sam screamed again.

" _NO! NO, JESS!"_

"Jesus Christ," Dean whispered, "she's making him relive the night Jess died."

John sucked in a harsh breath. "Sam…" he murmured after another moment, his eyes shining with unshed tears as Sam continued to scream.

The camera was still zoomed in on Sam's face, so when his eyes popped open and flashed black, Dean was taken aback. Suddenly, some force threw the demon off of Sam, and he was on his feet, eyes normal again as he glared in the demon's direction. The camera zoomed out back to its original view of the warehouse's main floor.

" _How did you get out?"_ the demon gasped out. _"The dream-memory merge I did isn't supposed to end until I_ say _it does."_

" _Fuck. You,"_ Sam bit out, his chest heaving and his hands clenched at his sides _. "I lost_ everything _that night, you bitch. You had_ no right _, showing me that."_ He raised one hand and the demon began to scream, writhing on the ground and clutching at her abdomen. Sam's expression was scary in its blankness, but even from a distance Dean could see the anger in his hazel eyes.

" _There was only_ one _good thing to come out of what you just made me see,"_ Sam told the demon as he dropped his hand and watched her gasp for breath _. "Now I know Azazel only put out the order to have Jess killed. Someone else did it, and when I find him, he'll suffer just as much as I'm gonna make_ you _suffer."_

And now Dean was feeling confused. Azazel had practically admitted to killing Jess back in that ramshackle cabin nearly three weeks ago, so why was Sam saying that another demon had acted on his orders?

The demon shoved her hand out and Sam was suddenly propelled back against the wall. Dean winced as he heard his brother's head crack against the wall before he slumped to the floor on his knees.

" _Bring it on, Sammy,"_ the demon told Sam as she stood, and Sam's face twisted with rage for the first time.

"He really hates it when anyone else calls him that," Dean commented aloud, watching as Sam and the demon stalked each other in a wide circle. The demon suddenly caused Sam to be knocked off his feet, but Sam retaliated and flung her off her feet, too. She quickly rolled back up and started running at Sam.

But then Sam raised his hand and the demon slammed to the ground on her knees, gasping desperately for air, hands scrabbling at her neck, her chest. Sam had an intense look of concentration on his face, but then a flash of something that was distinctly _Sam_ flashed across his face and he dropped his hand in horror. Dean realized that Sam had remembered that there was a human trapped inside, and from the looks of things, he had come pretty damn close to killing her.

The demon took advantage and tackled Sam to the ground; Dean heard him grunt as the air was most likely forced from his lungs. _"You're gonna pay for damaging this body, Sammy,"_ she said breathlessly, gripping his throat with both hands.

Sam struggled, but for some reason he couldn't seem to get the demon to release him. Dean watched in fear as Sam's face reddened from the lack of air, as he scraped desperately at the demon's hands, but he was growing weaker, his struggles lessening —

Even though Dean and John were watching a recording, they both felt it when something seemed to completely _snap_ inside Sam. He prised the demon's hands off his throat with little effort and gave her a massive head-butt, sending her flying off him and onto her backside. Sam clutched at his head before lunging forward and knocking the demon flat on her back.

Watching Sam exorcize a demon with his mind was vastly different from being _told_ about it, Dean decided, staring in horrified fascination as the demon was coughed up and out before being swallowed by Hell and leaving the ground beneath Sam and the girl cracked and black. Sam all but collapsed off the girl and to the ground and the camera abruptly zoomed in closer as the girl began to cough wetly, blood splattering her lips. Sam watched her and Dean could see the remorse in his eyes as blood dripped from his nose.

Suddenly, Sam was pulled to his feet by two large men and held up right as another man, tall and skinny, entered the frame with his back to the camera. _"Inhuman strength,"_ he said as though he was observing the weather or something. _"Still getting headaches with that nosebleed there?"_

Sam nodded, staring resolutely at the ground.

" _Well, by now I think that'll go away the more you practice,"_ the man said with a shrug. Then he turned and faced the camera, his yellow eyes flashing. _"Did you catch all that?"_ he asked aloud, and Dean grit his teeth in anger.

"Azazel," John muttered darkly, watching as Sam lifted his head and stared into the camera, shock as plain as day on his face.

" _I did,"_ said a female voice from somewhere very close the camera's microphone. _"Think they'll get a kick outta this?"_

" _Of course,"_ Azazel answered. _"Send the girl with it as soon as she's dead."_ The girl's coughing was much weaker now and Dean knew she had been dead long before the disc had been handed to him. The camera followed Sam as the two men, no, they were _demons_ , led him completely out of sight, and then screen went black.

There was a long moment of silence before John muttered, "Fuck."

Dean nodded his agreement silently, still staring at the screen of Sam's laptop. They were _definitely_ running out of time.

* * *

"Are we going to let him get strong enough to kill?" Tara asked softly as she and Azazel watched Sam sleep.

Azazel considered this question carefully. He figured Sam had probably realized that killing demons with his brain was a possibility now, but getting the boy strong enough to do that would take months more. The fact of the matter was that Sam had to become powerful enough to stop having the headaches and nosebleeds. Until then, it wasn't happening, especially given that the other two Winchesters were slowly closing in on their current location.

"No," he finally answered. "Just knowing the possibility is there will tempt him long after we sell him back to his family. Just _facing_ a demon will remind him of the addiction. It's never going to go away completely, no matter what he does."

Tara grinned. "Seems fitting," she said softly, and Azazel nodded silently. "I still don't see where this is going to end, though."

"And you know I can't tell you," Azazel said calmly. He thought for a moment. "I wonder how Sammy would take seeing his Prom date again?"

"Should I summon her?" Tara asked.

Azazel considered. "Why not?" he finally said.

Tara gave him a broad grin this time and left the room. Azazel returned his attention to the sleeping boy before him. "Time to start showing you just how much influence I've had over your life, Sammy," he whispered with a smile.

* * *

Sam drifted into the land of the conscious. His headache from the previous day hadn't completely faded, and the bruises from being thrown around hurt like hell. He yawned, carefully stretched, and finally sat up…

Only to come face-to-face with someone he hadn't ever expected to see again.

"Rachel?" he said, jumping back slightly in surprise in wincing in pain.

She didn't look very different, Sam thought idly. A few years older, obviously, but her haircut was still the same, as was her smile. "Hi, Sam," she said warmly. "Long time, no see, right?"

"I don't understand," Sam said. There was something about her that suddenly didn't feel right, but he couldn't place his finger on it. "What are you doing here?"

"Azazel had Tara summon me," Rachel answered, and her eyes were black. Sam immediately backed away until he hit the wall behind his mattress. "I always thought it was kinda stupid, having to pretend to be perfectly normal and everything you'd like in a girl so you'd ask me out to Prom all those years ago." The smile was now a cold smirk. "I can't tell you how pleased Azazel was that it worked."

"You've been possessed since Prom?" Sam asked, and Rachel laughed.

"Honey, I was in control this pretty packaging for a good _month_ before you showed up at that school, making sure I completely believable."

"What?"

"Azazel set up that hunt that drew your dad and brother," Rachel said after a moment, and in that tone of voice that meant she thought he was explaining something very simple to someone very stupid. Sam couldn't help but bristle slightly at the thought. "Do you know how awkward you were in your skin at that age? If I remember correctly, you'd only just finally managed your first growth spurt two months before showing up at that school." She smiled in a misty-eyed way. "All arms and legs, and so _tall_. You really earned that Sasquatch title there, Sam."

Sam rolled his eyes. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "I'm really not interested in another exorcism so soon after yesterday."

"Oh, I'm not here to try and kill you," Rachel said softly as she inched closer to Sam. "I'm just here to show you how much interest Azazel's had in you for your entire life."

Sam stared at Rachel for a long moment. "There are others, aren't there?"

Rachel nodded brightly. "Bingo! We all had things Azazel wanted us to teach you," she told Sam, scooting right into his personal space and placing her hands on his bent knees. "You wanna know what my lesson was?"

"Get out of here," Sam bit out, not wanting to deal with any of this.

"It was easy to see how much you resented the life you lived," Rachel said softly. "John the Hunter and Dean, your big brother who was the perfect son and always did what Daddy told him. 'Watch out for Sam, follow my lead, do all the research, clean all the guns.' Every order was followed to the letter, but you? 'Listen to your brother, always stay close, don't wander off, help with the research, help clean the guns, and _never_ disobey.' I played the normal teenage girl with just enough of an independent streak to pique your interest at the time. And do you know what I saw by the time you left?" Rachel leaned in even closer and whispered into his ear, "I saw you standing up to your father in ways you'd never done before you met me. _I_ taught you to fight back twice as hard when you didn't agree. _I_ taught you to demand to be seen as someone who could make his own decisions and didn't need to be protected all the time."

"Stop it," Sam said, pushing Rachel away and shoving to his feet. He moved to the other side of the room, warily eyeing the girl before him as she slowly stood up with an out-of-place smirk on her pretty face.

"You turned out so handsome and strong," she said. "Incredibly smart, too. It really is a shame you never took advantage of this pretty body here." She smoothed her hands down her sides and Sam felt sick. "Poor Rachel wanted it just as much as I did," she told Sam before tilting her head to the side. "Still does, actually. My, you left _quite_ the impression."

"Get out of here," Sam ground out, raising a hand in warning when Rachel took a step toward him.

"What's the matter, Sam? Am I coming on too strong?" Rachel put on a pouty face and Sam grit his teeth in anger.

"What's the point of all this?" Sam demanded. "Why the fuck do I matter so damn much?"

Rachel smiled. "I don't know the end game any more than you do, Sam," she said quietly. "All I know is that I wasn't the first demon pulled from the Pit to guide you, and I'm sure I won't be the last, either." She headed to the door, knocking on it to be released. "You should know," she said after a moment, "that with what I _do_ know about the future and Azazel's plans, that I'm rooting for you. I'm not the only one, either." She smiled before knocking. A moment later the door opened and Sam watched as she sauntered out, the door slamming shut behind her.

Sam felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Hard. _Some Hunter I am,_ he thought dully as he eased back onto his mattress. How many other people had Sam known that were actually possessed by demons? How many had pushed him in the direction Azazel wanted him to go? Was it their fault he had run away for two weeks to _escape_ his "overbearing" family in Flagstaff, Arizona? Was it their fault he had always felt so out of place in his own family?

" _All those times you ran away, you weren't running from them. You were running towards me."_

"Gah!" Sam squeezed his eyes shut and clutched at his head. He had never heard those words before, but he knew the voice, and through the newest haze of pain he felt fear.

That voice had been _his._

The door to Sam's room suddenly opened and Derrick sauntered through. "Breakfast time," he said in an oddly jovial tone. Sam just stared at him.

"Slept like a rock after taking on Vashta," Derrick added after a moment, setting the tray of steaming hot food down and sprawling comfortably on the mattress beside Sam. "You've got some strength goin' there, kid, but it's probably gonna keep wiping you out for a while longer."

"Thanks for telling me," Sam sighed as he tucked into his food. He ate in silence for a few minutes before asking a question that had been plaguing him since the exorcism he had performed the day before. "Derrick?"

"Yeah?"

"The 'dream-memory' merge thing Vashta did yesterday," Sam said, "why did she call it a level of Hell?"

Derrick sighed and dropped his head back against the wall. "That's because it _is_ a level of Hell," he said. "There are all kinds of different torture, and not all of them involve physical pain. What I think you experienced was an upper level, but most everyone gets thrown on the rack and tortured day after day." Sam was surprised to see Derrick shudder. "I'd sooner die than go back there," he admitted, "and not just me. It pretty much goes without saying that _any_ demon would sooner get shot with that gun your dad found than return to the Pit."

Sam nodded and resumed eating. If he could go the rest of his life without experiencing any of that ever again, it would be too damn soon.

When he finished eating, Derrick took his dirty dishes and headed for the door. When it was opened, however, he paused before turning back to Sam.

"Have you ever experienced any sort of withdrawal?" he asked casually.

"No," Sam said after a moment. "Why?"

Tara suddenly stuck her head through the door and caught sight of Sam. "Your daddy and big brother are getting close," she said with a gleeful smile. "Too close, really. Hell, I'm expecting them to show up in a few days, all set to save you." Her smile got bigger. "No more go-juice for you, Sammy. I'm guessing the basic symptoms will start kicking in within a few hours, but it's gonna take _days_ for you to get over it. Have fun."

Derrick followed her through the door, and when it shut with an ominous "BOOM", Sam felt his insides drop out.


	10. The Invitation

Bobby was out working on dismantling an old truck for parts requested by a man across town when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He slowly pushed out from under the junker and took in the sight of a tall girl with plain brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She seemed pretty enough, but the way she stood there watching him made him more than a little suspicious.

"Can I help you?" he finally asked when it became clear the girl wasn't going to say anything.

"No," the girl said. "I'm the one here to do the helping."

Bobby rose to his feet, wrench in hand. "What's your name?"

"Rachel," the girl said. "Are the Winchester's inside?"

"What do you want with them?" Bobby asked at once, now feeling more than a little certain that this girl was indeed possessed by a demon.

Rachel smiled slightly. "You're pretty protective of your friends, aren't you, Mr. Singer? Don't worry, though, I'm not here to hurt anyone."

"How do I know I can believe anything you say?"

Rachel's eyes flashed black and the smile became a smirk as Bobby took an automatic step away from her. "I guess you don't," she said, her hands remaining oddly loose by her sides, "but it's the truth. I'm tired of doing everything I'm told to do, and I'm sure Sam's tired of it all, too."

Bobby heard the back door open. "Bobby?" It was Dean.

"Over here!" Bobby called out, not taking his eyes off the demon. A few moments later, Dean came into view and immediately stuttered to a halt upon seeing the girl.

"You look familiar," he said after a moment.

Rachel smiled. "It's Rachel Nave," she said calmly. "You were already done with high school, but I think we managed to meet once or twice before Prom."

Dean's brow furrowed as he seemed to think. Then a look of realization crossed his eyes. "Weren't you Sam's Prom date?"

Rachel nodded. "She's possessed by a demon, Dean," Bobby bit out, and Dean instantly tensed.

"I'm seriously not here to hurt anyone," Rachel sighed. "I know you're looking for your brother, and I know exactly where he is."

"And how do you expect me to believe you?" Dean hissed. "How long have you been possessing that girl?"

Rachel grinned. "Azazel had me in here a _month_ before your family came along and I met your baby brother. I've stuck around ever since."

"Why?" Dean asked angrily.

"Why?" Rachel shrugged. "I was pulled from Hell to act as one of Sam's guides while growing up. You and Daddy never once realized that I was here. Hell, you never recognized any of the others. We're _really_ good at blending in, it's why we were chosen."

The idea that Azazel had been putting demons into people Sam had known to "guide" him made Bobby sick to his stomach. He glanced at Dean and saw he didn't look much better.

"You have no idea how strange it's been, acting like a normal human," Rachel continued. "I mean, I know I was human a very long time ago before selling my soul, but after a few centuries in the Pit, you lose your humanity and become a creature of chaos and, well, darkness." She shrugged again. "I love being free, and I'm not here to get sent back to that prison." Her eyes hardened. "I tell you where your brother is, and you do nothing to me. Do we have an understanding?"

Bobby had almost lost track of what Rachel was saying after the "I was human a very long time ago" bombshell. He supposed it should have made sense; after all, there were plenty of humans who sold their souls or were horrible enough in life to head straight to the Pit after their lives on Earth ended. How many demons had been human once?

Bobby's eyes narrowed as he reevaluated the girl before him. "Why are _you_ offering to help?" he asked, and Rachel let out a massive sigh.

"Do you know why Sam liked me so much?" she asked Dean. "It's because I was normal with just enough of an independent streak to catch his attention. I was supposed to push him to fight back, to make him want to go against your father's militaristic lifestyle. It never really suited him, you know," she added with a coy smile. "Sam's never been as good at hiding his emotions as you and John, and you know it. We, and I mean everyone Azazel pulled from Hell to guide your brother's path, were supposed to prey upon every insecurity and every emotion, just to make sure he was the right person for the job."

"And what is the job?" Dean barked out.

"Damned if I know," Rachel answered. "Azazel keeps his cards close to his chest, but I know he needs soldiers and an army. That's still a ways off, though," she added after another moment. "Anyway, back to my point," and she grinned. "Sam never knew normal — well, not in the sense of white picket fences with a loving mother and father, so we pushed him to find any normalcy he could manage in the life you Winchester's led. Spending Thanksgiving with a normal family was amazing to him, even though the girl who invited him had a massively awkward crush on him. Remember the time he ran away for two weeks in Flagstaff? We made him feel you and Daddy were too overbearing, made him want to escape."

Bobby remembered that one. Dean and John had made many frantic calls as they tried to discover where the youngest Winchester had gone, only to find the kid had been living off of soda and candy bars in a small hotel room. John had been livid.

"Of course, that desire to escape led to college, of all things," Rachel added thoughtfully. "We didn't _quite_ plan on that. You wanna know why Azazel liked Sam so much, put so many of us in his life?"

Dean's hands were clenched at his sides and Bobby was pretty sure he was grinding his teeth into oblivion.

"John trained him," Rachel said after a moment, "raised him to be a warrior. He may not have been suited to the exact lifestyle you embraced so fully, but that never meant he wasn't good at it, or that he wasn't leader material. Your baby brother has got quite the destiny ahead of him, I'll tell you that."

"I don't believe in all that destiny crap," Dean snapped. "Now why the hell would you want to tell us where Sam is?"

Rachel smiled again, and it chilled Bobby to his bones. "I like Sam," she said. "And honestly? I think Sam needs you more than you know." Her smile suddenly warmed and her eyes softened. "I hated pretending to be something I'm not just to get Sam to like me, but he's in pain right now. He's _lost_ , Dean, and no matter what lies ahead, I don't think he'll make it there in one piece without you. And _that_ ," she emphasized with a firm gesture of one hand, "is why I'm here."

* * *

Dean stared at Rachel. He couldn't say he trusted her at all, but if she could tell him where Sam was…

"Where is he?" he finally asked.

"I need a map of the Los Angeles docks," Rachel answered. "And don't tell me to come inside, I know you've got Devil's Traps in there and I am _not_ taking my chances. I show you where your brother is, tell you what to expect regarding other demons, and I walk free. You'll never have to see me again."

Dean wanted to send the bitch straight to Hell, but if she really had been possessing that body for as long as she said she had, then chances were the body was probably dead already. "Has Rachel suffered at all?" he asked.

The demon shook her head. "I won't lie and say she likes being possessed by me," she finally said, "but I've never tortured her or this body. My mission was always about blending in, and that's exactly what I've done. Regardless, I'm not leaving this skin and going back to Hell." She crossed her arms protectively over her chest.

Dean didn't like this at all. "Fine," he finally bit out. "Bobby, find Dad and get a map."

Bobby met his eyes and he knew he was making an insanely hard decision, but the fact remained that Rachel had done nothing to either of them, and he knew they were running out of time and options.

When John and Bobby emerged from the house a few tense and awkwardly silent minutes later, Dean was unsurprised to see John looking nothing short of angry. Bobby stepped to one side with Rachel, map in hand, while John pulled Dean out of earshot. "Why the hell are you trusting her?" he asked without preamble.

"I _don't_ trust her, Dad," Dean said, "but I can't wait for enough demonic signs to just _pop_ up on Ash's radar. I have to believe that she's telling us the truth."

"Fine, but why are you letting her just walk out of here?"

"Her demands," Dean answered. "She helps us out, and she walks free, no strings attached."

"She's _possessing_ that poor girl, Dean," John snapped. "We can't just let her walk away in that body."

"She's been possessed since before Sam even asked her to go to Prom with him," Dean snapped back, and John's face went slack with surprise. "Bobby… he didn't tell you?" he asked after a moment.

"No," John replied softly. "That long?"

Dean sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face before nodding and dropping the bombshell. "Azazel's had demons possessing people that were close to Sam in one way or another for _years_. I got no idea how many, but apparently they were the ones pushing Sam's rebellious side to the extreme."

Dean already felt like he'd been sucker-punched by the news, so watching as his father turned away with wide eyes and stared blankly at the nearest junker was no surprise to him. Hell, he already felt like he'd let his brother down by never realizing that there had been multiple demons influencing his life. _Some Hunter I am,_ he thought, unknowingly echoing Sam's reaction to the news.

"You think Sammy knows about this?" John finally asked. Dean shrugged.

"I imagine he might, just based on the fact that demon girl's here, giving us all the recon we need to find and save him," he answered after a moment.

"This still doesn't sit right with me," John said after another long moment had passed, "just letting her go."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, "but she said the whole point to her existence was to blend in. I think that, given we had no idea she was even _possessed_ when Sam took her to Prom, should be telling us how good at it she is."

"And that's what bothers me the most," John said. "I mean, apart from Sam's experiences with Meg, I've _never_ known a demon to blend in."

"Me neither," Dean said with a shrug. "Hell, I remember Sammy saying nothing about Meg's existence until she suddenly showed up back in Chicago. And even then, we didn't know she was a demon until she called about the Colt."

John's cell phone suddenly went off. He pulled it out, stared at the ID for a moment, then flipped it open. "This is John," he said, turning away and listening intently to whatever the caller was telling him. "Hang on a minute, I'm gonna have you talk to my friend Bobby, he's got a map." John quickly headed over to Bobby and Rachel, passed over the cell phone, then returned to where Dean still stood.

"That Ash?" he asked, and John nodded. "I guess that's the confirmation we need to know Rachel's telling the truth."

"Looks like," John sighed, "but the timing?"

Dean nodded his understanding. The timing was too close to be a coincidence, which meant Azazel knew the game was up. "He's inviting us in." He shook his head, watching Bobby and Rachel. "I really don't like this, Dad."

"Well," John sighed, "we don't got much choice at this point. If the locations _do_ match up, then we have to assume the numbers she gives us are right, as well."

"Yeah," Dean mumbled, turning away and passing a hand through his short hair. After a moment, he heard the sounds of his father moving back to Bobby and Rachel. He tuned out what they were saying and allowed his feet to carry him further into the salvage yard.

When he got right down to it, Dean found he was incredibly bothered by Rachel's presence in the yard. Hell, he was bothered by the fact that she had been one of many demons who had made Sam as rebellious as he had been growing up. Of course, that didn't mean that other, normal people hadn't influenced the youngest Winchester, as well, but knowing that Azazel had purposely worked to push Sam apart from Dean and John made his blood boil.

He was vaguely aware of soft footsteps approaching him and knew it had to be Rachel. "Azazel sent you here, didn't he?"

"No," Rachel responded quietly, "he didn't. I only came out of the woodwork to talk to Sam on his orders. Coming here was my own choice."

Dean thought she might be telling the truth on that one. "How _did_ my brother react to you?" he asked after a moment, turning to face Rachel. "He try to use his powers on you or somethin'?"

"No," Rachel replied, "he was still pretty wiped out from sending Vashta back to Hell yesterday. Honestly, I think hearing the truth freaked him out quite a bit. I'd bet he's feeling completely uncertain as to what choices were really his own growing up and what choices were influenced by demonic control." Rachel's smile sent chills down Dean's spine. "Truth is, though, that Sam's always been different. More sensitive, more understanding, a hell of a lot smarter —"

"You can shut up and leave now," Dean cut in.

"Oh, did I hit a sensitive spot, Dean?" Rachel said with a fake pout. "I'm so sorry."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sammy's a walking encyclopedia, but he and I? We work well together on kicking demonic ass and stopping all kinds of evil. Helluva team, we are." He took a step closer to Rachel. "So don't you _dare_ go presumin' you know _anything_ about Sam, or me."

Rachel stared up at him for a long moment before nodding. "I think I get it, now," she said, turning away.

"Get what?" Dean asked, suspicion jumping to attention in an instant.

"Why Sam needs you more than he needs John," Rachel answered, stopping and looking over her shoulder at Dean. "I mean, not that he _doesn't_ need you both, but _you_ matter more to him." She smiled again, but this one was more sad than scary. "Good luck, Dean. You Winchester's are gonna need it." She walked out of sight, and Dean figured she was gone.

" _Not that he_ doesn't _need you both, but_ you _matter more to him."_ The words were filled with an unpleasant sense of foreboding, and Dean began to wonder just what lay ahead on the quest to save Sam, and just what sacrifices they would be required to make.

* * *

John dragged a hand over his mouth as he stared at the map and Bobby's notes on the intel they had gotten from Rachel. The fact that Ash's work matched perfectly with Rachel's was good, but it didn't make him worry any less about the days to come. Sam was in a lot of trouble, and John was terrified of how the demon blood could have affected his youngest.

"So," Bobby said, "what's the plan?"

John looked over at Bobby. "There's no way to kill any of them, so we're gonna have to rely on either knocking them out or exorcizing every demon we come across in there. And the number's aren't pretty."

Dean chose that moment to wander over, looking faintly disturbed. "Have another talk with that Rachel girl?" Bobby asked.

Nodding silently, Dean leaned over John's shoulder to stare at the information they now had. "Twenty demons, not including Azazel," he said. "That sure makes me wish there was some kind of awesome demon-killing blade we could use to take them out."

"Yeah," John agreed, "that'd be real nice. We're gonna have to take our time getting down there, make sure we get enough rest so we're at our best. Otherwise, Sammy's never leaving that place in one piece."

"I don't think any of us are gonna make it in one piece," Dean said, and this really caught John's attention.

"What'd that demon say to you?" he asked. His son sighed and looked away.

"She actually wished us good luck," he said. "A demon, Dad. I get the feeling there was a helluva lot more that bitch knew she wasn't telling us. This whole situation is just… wrong."

"I know," John said, clasping one hand on Dean's shoulder. "This whole thing could easily go south, but Sammy's counting on us to get him out of this, and you know that's exactly what we're gonna do."

Dean nodded with a small smile. "I know we are, Dad. I just wish the odds weren't so badly stacked against us."

"We'll make it through this," Bobby said. "You'll see, son."

John nodded his agreement, gently shook Dean's shoulder, and then turned back to the map. "Okay, so here's what I'm thinking…"

* * *

Tara silently let herself out of the warehouse, making sure to keep to the shadows as she headed for the docks. Sunset was fast approaching, and she still had one more thing to take care of before setting things up for John and Dean Winchester's inevitable arrival, as per Azazel's orders.

As she approached the docks, she spotted Rachel, leaning against a wooden pole along the water's edge. "Rachel," she called out.

"Hey, Tara," Rachel replied, standing up straight and moving forward. "I did as you asked. They know what to expect."

"Good," Tara said. "And Dean?"

"I dropped your hint," Rachel replied with an easy shrug. "I doubt he really expects just what's coming, but I know I pushed his mind in the right direction."

Tara nodded her approval. "Bobby Singer's planning to come with them?"

"I never heard them say it for certain," Rachel said, "but it was _easy_ to read from their body language that they're definitely planning to work as a unit. We _do_ know they've got a long history together."

"That they do," Tara said with a frown. "How soon can we expect them?"

"Two or three days," Rachel said. "They don't wanna screw up their chances."

"No, I wouldn't expect anything less," Tara said. "Good work, Rachel, you really came through for us."

"I'm so glad," Rachel said dead-pan. "Can I go back into the woodwork now?"

Tara chuckled. "What, you're still scared of the frontlines?" she asked.

"No," Rachel said, rolling her eyes. "I'm just not willing to get sent back to Hell. That's what the frontlines get you, and you know it."

Tara nodded. "I _do_ know that," she said, smiling. "You're a smart one, Rachel Nave. Take care of yourself."

"And you," Rachel replied, and then she was gone.

Tara stared out across the bay at the setting sun. The next few days were definitely going to be interesting. She'd make sure of it.


	11. Withdrawal

The first symptoms were the shakes and the sweats.

Sam had read about withdrawal symptoms back in high school, and intellectually understood what he might end up going through now. The reality, however, was much, much, _much_ worse.

Huddling in the corner of his room with his legs drawn up to his chest, Sam focused on trying to keep his breathing even and avoid hyperventilating. He clenched his arms as tightly as he could around his legs and stared blankly across the room, his thoughts darting in and out of his mind too quickly to hang onto. He knew he thought of Dean often, and of his dad and even of Bobby, but he couldn't keep track of what exactly those thoughts were about, let alone how long they lasted before darting away again. Hell, time had pretty much lost all meaning by this point.

If he lived through this, he was _never_ touching any fucking demon blood ever again. And if anyone tried to make him, he'd be sure to kill them for even _suggesting_ it.

Next came the muscle spasms.

Sam grit his teeth and clenched his eyes shut as he tried to loosen a charlie horse in his left leg. No one had disturbed him since breakfast that morning (or was it yesterday, now?), and not only was he hungry for actual food, but he was craving more demon blood and it freaked him out almost as much as he wanted it _out_ so he could be just a little less freakish. Not that there was any going back to the way things were, but if drinking the demon blood was the main cause of his new ability to exorcize demons, then he was fine without it. As for the rest?

"You're an even _bigger_ freak than _I_ ever was."

Sam's head shot up, startled. He hadn't heard anyone come in, but —

"Max?"

_I've gotta be hallucinating,_ he thought desperately as the short boy who had shot himself in the head months ago slowly approached him.

"Seriously, though. I thought that _I_ was the freak, Sam," Max Miller said dully, stopping at the foot of Sam's mattress. "I could move anything, while all you ever did was witness my revenge in your mind. But now? You're even weirder than I ever was."

"Shut up," Sam said lowly. "I haven't had a choice in the matter, Max."

"Choice?" Max raised his eyebrows. "Isn't that what you were preaching to me before I shot myself? How I didn't _have_ to kill my dad and uncle, how I could _choose_ a different path… What else could you have said? Nothing's set in stone? There's no such thing as destiny? You _know_ that's not true, Sam! We're freaks of nature! That brother of yours, Dean? He's as close to normal as you'll ever get, and that's not saying much."

"Why are you here?" Sam asked, hating how weak and pathetic his voice sounded.

Max actually smiled and chuckled as though Sam had missed the whole point. "Don't you get it?" he said softly. "You and me? We _are_ alike, Sam. Maybe your dad didn't get drunk as often as mine did, but you _know_ he secretly blames you for your mom's death, just like my dad blamed me for _my_ mom's!"

"He doesn't," Sam tried to cut in, but Max kept talking.

"You may have that older brother of yours to keep your nose clean for now," he taunted, "but sooner or later you'll turn out just like I did. A killer, a murderer. You kill _anyone_ who gets in your way, and soon enough, you start to enjoy it. We're on the same path here, Sam," he added after a moment. "I just got to the end a little bit sooner than you did."

"No!" Sam shouted. "No, I'm not a killer, I never will be!"

"It's your fault that girl died two days ago," Max said simply. "You're the one who damaged her lungs beyond repair before getting rid of the demon inside her. It's _your_ fault she's dead, Sam! And it'll be all your fault when your family dies, too."

"Stop it," Sam bit out, looking down at his knees. "You're not real, it's all in my head."

"So?" Max said, and Sam looked back up at him in surprise. "It doesn't matter whether I'm real or not. A brain hopped up on demon blood _makes_ it real enough." He lifted one hand and Sam was flung across the room, hitting the opposite wall with his left shoulder and crumpling to the ground in pain.

"I hear that you're the best of all of us," Max said. "I wasn't strong enough to keep living, I realize that, but you? You're more likely to angst yourself to death than any of the others, and that's only because you know what's really going on. But then, that's probably your saving grace, too."

Sam slowly lifted his head and glared at Max. "What the hell does that mean?" he gasped out.

Max slowly moved towards him again. "It means you were _born_ to do whatever that yellow-eyed demon wants of you. Military training, supernatural training, thievery, lying, cheating, hiding, research, strength? You've got it all, Sam, and now that you've unlocked the seal over all those other powers you got, there's no going back. You are a _freak_ , Sam, and you're gonna be hunted the rest of your life. Your dad and Dean? They're gonna turn their backs on you once the realize how _fucked up_ you really are."

"Stop it," Sam whispered.

Max frowned and suddenly Sam was flung across the room once more, hitting his head and back this time before slumping onto his mattress. "Your family _will_ desert you," Max said quietly as Sam struggled to sit up again. "Just wait, and you'll see."

Sam looked up, but Max was gone. Taking a shuddering breath, he ran a hand through his messy hair and eased himself back against the corner he had been huddled in. _Dad and Dean_ will _save me,_ he thought, desperately trying to reassure himself. _They always have, and they always will._

Sam pulled his legs against his chest again, wrapped his arms around them, dropped his head and, for the first time since being taken from his family, he prayed. He prayed for his family's safety, prayed that they'd find him, that they'd save him from the monster he was turning into. He prayed for the strength to hang on just a little longer, and he prayed that Dean would have enough strength left over to carry him through this, because he was almost completely drained. "Please," he whispered. "God, please."

* * *

Sam woke up some time later feeling stiff, sore, and desperately thirsty. Unfortunately for him, there was nothing in his room to drink. Was anyone even watching him suffer? He struggled to his feet, walking around a little to try and ease the pain in his legs.

"What happened to wanting to be normal?" Sam spun around and took in the sight of, well, _himself_. Granted, the Sam before him looked to be around fourteen years old, but his eyes looked as haunted as Sam imagined his own looked now.

"Well?" little Sammy demanded. "What happened? We were supposed to go to college, get away from all this _supernatural_ crap, from our family."

"You don't just turn on family," Sam snapped back, dropping back onto his mattress. "Yeah, it sucked that we never knew what Dad did until we were eight years old, and yeah, it sucked that we moved so often, but walking out? _That_ was the worst mistake of our life."

"What, so you _like_ all the Hunting, all the lies and secrets and Dad's stupid revenge?" Sammy demanded, crouching down before Sam. "We _hated_ it growing up."

Sam looked away. "I never understood why Dad did the things he did," he said softly, "not until Jess died in that fire last year, anyway. And yeah, I _want_ to stand on my own two feet, to have Dad treat me like an equal instead of a permanent child, but the way we acted towards him growing up? He didn't deserve it, not like that. You know it never would've been that extreme if it hadn't been for Doug, or Rachel, or that stupid grade school teacher in Michigan —" Sam cut himself off and he and Sammy stared at each other silently.

"We let a bunch of demons influence us," Sam finally said, realizing he had pinpointed another two demons who had fucked with his life. God, how many had there been? "Maybe we never realized it," he added, "but that doesn't make it right, or even a good excuse. We wanted a stupid house with a white picket fence like all the other kids so damn much we let others tell us what people did and didn't need in their lives. We wanted normal so badly we walked out on Dad, on Dean!"

Sammy was forced to stand and back away as Sam lurched back to his feet. "We fucking _walked out_ on Dean," he said harshly, "and he _never_ deserved it! He watched out for us our whole life, protected us when Dad couldn't, let us hang onto that innocence about the real world for years longer than he ever got! And we _walked out_!"

"What good would staying have done?" Sammy shouted back. "Dad never told us the truth! He _knew_ what we were gonna become long before the visions even started, you know he did! He knows where this is all going, and he never once thought we deserved to know the truth! Not once!"

"Who cares?" Sam exploded. He and Sammy stared at each other, chests heaving in anger. "Who cares?" he said again, his voice breaking as grief overtook his anger. "He's still our Dad."

"Since when has that been good enough?" Sammy asked with narrowed eyes.

Sam smiled sadly. "Dad isn't perfect, I know," he said, "but it was always good enough for Dean, and it should've been good enough for us, too."

He turned away and quickly wiped away his tears, but when he looked back, Sammy had vanished just like Max.

* * *

Pain. It was completely unbearable and Sam couldn't stop his screams as his body continued to detox. God, he needed more blood, he couldn't live without it, and how was he ever going to live through this? Azazel was going to let him die in here, die alone and he'd never see his family again…

Suddenly, the pain began to ebb away, and Sam opened watery eyes to see Mary in her white nightgown, blood covering her stomach where she'd been slashed before burning up on the ceiling. Just like Jessica. "Mom," he croaked out.

"Shh," Mary whispered, gently settling herself beside Sam on his sweat-soaked mattress. "You're all right for now, love, I promise you."

"Wha…" Sam tried so hard to make his brain work, but it refused to cooperate.

"I'm so sorry you're going through this," Mary said softly, reaching out and gently brushing Sam's damp hair from his face. "This is all my fault, you being here now with all this demon blood in your veins. I never should have confronted that man that first night he showed up, never should have let myself be placed in such a position where John ended up being hurt by my secrets."

Sam smiled slightly. "Why didn't you ever tell Dad?" he asked, hating how his voice cracked from screaming too much.

Mary's smile was incredibly sad. "I came from a long line of Hunters," she said, "but I never wanted that life for myself, let alone John, Dean or even you. I was so determined to marry your father and just _walk away_ from this life, but then that Hunter showed up, said there was a powerful demon around, even convinced my dad to help him." Mary suddenly frowned. "It's funny, but his name was Dean, too."

Sam stared at Mary and frowned. Why did that part of the story seem familiar to him? It couldn't be, Azazel hadn't said anything like that. _"Some Hunter turns up out of nowhere, interrupting me in the middle of one of my deals. So, I jumped ship and chose to take Grandpa Samuel's meat suit, which led to drawing my attention to John Winchester, the mechanic who served in the Marines and Mary Campbell, the daughter of Hunter Samuel Campbell. I thought that I must have found the best of my potential children in this particular couple, so I broke John's neck and told Mary I could bring him back if she made a simple deal to allow me access to her home in ten years. She made the Deal, I stabbed Gramps and twisted Grandma's neck, and now I think I've found the one who'll carry out my plans."_

Sam's frown deepened. He couldn't quite figure out why, but that story suddenly didn't seem quite right. Was it?

"Even after I made the Deal," Mary continued, "I still thought I could forget everything, forget that awful night I lost both my parents, forget that I almost lost John, too." There were tears in her eyes as she stroked Sam's head softly. "I guess we both learned you can't run from your past," she added ruefully, swiping at her eyes with her free hand.

"I don't blame you," Sam whispered, staring at his mother and wishing to God this was real, that Mary was actually _here_ with him. "You had _no_ idea what Azazel was planning, no one knew. I just wish you hadn't walked into my room that night."

"I couldn't have done anything else, Sammy," Mary said with a choked-up sounding chuckle. "I'm not that kind of mother. Oh, you're so _strong,_ Sam, you have no idea how well you're really doing with everything that's happened to you, even now." Her eyes were shining with tears again. "You'll make it through this, I know you will."

"Thanks," Sam replied, closing his eyes. "I hope Dad and Dean get here soon."

Mary was silent for a long moment. "Sam," she said hesitantly, "you _do_ know the price of their coming here, right?"

Sam cracked his eyes open. "Figures you'd know everything I already know," he grumbled, wincing as he tried to sit up. "I have to believe they'll find another way that doesn't require that," he said, meeting Mary's eyes with his own.

"You know that won't happen," Mary whispered, placing two fingers on Sam's forehead. Suddenly, a raging headache burst into life, and Sam was falling —

" _Make the Deal or I kill them both here and now," Azazel said calmly. "It sure would be a shame to lose Sammy here, but I've still got others out there I can choose from, so it's not the biggest loss ever."_

" _No," Sam whispered, "no, please no, don't do it, please —"_

_There was a long moment of silence._

" _I got no choice."_

"Ah!" Sam snapped back into reality and forced his eyes open, wanting to demand how Mary had done that, but she wasn't there. "God, I'm losing my mind," he whispered, collapsing back onto the mattress.

"I think you already have." Sam knew without looking that it was Azazel. "Still, once I have my deal, I think you'll find a way to keep going. You're not like Max Miller, you're not gonna just _flame out_ under the pressure, not after everything else you've been through."

"Go away," Sam groaned, keeping his eyes tightly shut.

"But I brought water, Sammy," Azazel said in a mock-hurt voice. "You must be pretty dehydrated after 52 hours of this."

Sam cracked one eye open and saw that Azazel was, indeed holding a glass of water. He forced himself to sit up and took the proffered glass in shaking hands, raising it to his lips. He spilled a little at first, but eventually he managed to slowly drink the entire thing, glad for its chilled temperature soothing his sore throat.

"Your daddy, Dean and Uncle Bobby should be here pretty soon," Azazel commented when Sam handed back the glass. "I can't wait to see what they do in their attempt to rescue you, especially seeing as how I've got their best weapon."

"You're an asshole," Sam stated, staring at his knees again.

"Yeah, well, I think it's part of my charm. Or something." Azazel snorted. "Doesn't matter in the end, Sammy. I'll get what I want, and you'll get the one who matters most." He grinned when Sam looked back up at him. "I wonder if you can live with what's coming, kiddo."

"Ask me that again when I finally kill you," Sam snapped dully, looking away again.

Azazel laughed aloud this time. "I look forward to the attempt, Sammy," he said as the door to the room opened. "In the meantime, enjoy your detox. I think you've still got a long way to go before you're out of the woods."

Sam watched through his bangs as Azazel left and the door slammed shut once more. _I can't do this,_ he thought bleakly. _I'll never make it._

* * *

Meg was ruthless in her torture. Sam knew, somewhere in his screwed up head, that this was only another hallucination, like Max and his mom, but _Jesus Fucking Christ_ , he was hurting!

"We could've had a lot of fun together, Sam," Meg cooed in his ear as he struggled against the bindings holding him to the floor. "All you had to do was get on that bus with me, and we both could've gone to California together, maybe even put together a life worth living." A frown crossed her borrowed face, Meg Master's face. "Well, at least until my father required you in his plans."

She dragged her knife across Sam's stomach, and _God_ he couldn't stop his screams. "Mmm, you sound _so good_ , Sam," Meg murmured, gently stroking a hand through his hair. "The _things_ I could do to you right now…" She ran her index finger along the cut on Sam's stomach, sending flashes of pain through Sam's system and he gasped for air. Then she shoved her finger into the cut and Sam screamed, arching off the floor, which only caused Meg's finger to sink deeper into his guts and he could feel tears sliding down his face as he tried to pull away. Meg's finger only followed him, as did her horrific laughter at his pain. Then her mouth clamped over his, kissing him ruthlessly, plundering his mouth with her hot tongue and holding his head in place with her free hand.

Sam couldn't struggle, couldn't move, and he felt so fucking _violated_ that, as soon as Meg's mouth left his, sobs broke through, wracking his chest as they alternated with his screams of pain. _Oh, God, make it stop, please make it all stop, just kill me, stop stop stop stop —_

And suddenly Sam came back to himself. No Meg, no bindings holding him down, no cuts or other injuries and he couldn't help but sob in relief as he curled onto his right side. He couldn't keep this up, let alone focus on anything that was going on around him anymore. He never heard his cell door open, never heard the harsh words, didn't even feel the strong hands pulling him upright or notice that he was being dragged from his prison of a room. All he knew was pain and fleeting thoughts that never lasted long enough for him to grab onto.

* * *

It took three days before Dean was finally able to stand before the targeted warehouse in Los Angeles, California. He swallowed back his fear for Sam and turned to his dad. John nodded silently before slowly leading the way forward, Dean and Bobby following closely behind with the rising sun at their backs.

Their only weapons were their shotguns, loaded with salt rounds, and several small containers of holy water. John and Bobby had each taken the time to memorize a few exorcisms in Latin, while Dean was choosing to rely on his weapons to give them the time they needed to get rid of each demon while keeping an eye out for Sam. Dean wasn't the praying type by any stretch of the imagination, but right now he couldn't stop from praying that they'd be able to save his brother without any significant loses. Although, knowing Winchester luck…

" _Sam needs you more than he needs John. Not that he_ doesn't _need you both, but_ you _matter more to him."_ Rachel's words seemed to be haunting him, _taunting_ him with the secrets they were concealing. There was so much that could go wrong today, Dean knew that, but those words made him think this was all an elaborate trap. And it could very well cost them all their lives.

The first demon was easy to take out. Dean held it down while Bobby sprayed it with holy water and John rushed through an exorcism, the words almost blending together in their haste to get this over with without attracting any attention. It was the same thing with the next few demons.

After that, it got really complicated.

Dean was quickly running out of rock salt rounds as they moved through the maze of offices before spilling out into the main room by the loading bay. John and Bobby were behind Dean, still facing the hallway they had emerged from as they continued to shoot and spray the demons, so it was Dean who caught the first sight of his little brother.

Sam looked like hell. He was sweating profusely, dark circles under his eyes as his head lolled languidly on his shoulders. Two brute demons were holding him upright since he couldn't seem to support himself on his knees, and he was shaking so badly that he reminded Dean of a druggie going through withdrawal symptoms. "Sammy," he whispered, lowering his shotgun at once.

Then he spotted Azazel.

"Hello there, Dean," he said with a cheery wave. The other demons that had been attacking the three men abruptly backed away, and John and Bobby finally turned around. "I have to say, this is pretty much what I expected outta you three. It is _such_ a shame I've got the one weapon you need to waste me for good."

"Azazel," John ground out harshly from Dean's right side. "Let Sam go."

Dean tightened his jaw when Azazel started laughing. "And _why_ would I do that?" he asked jovially. "Sammy here really _is_ the best of all the kids of his generation. He'll make a damn good leader of my army. Once I have it, that is." He grinned, yellow eyes flashing. "That's still a ways off, of course, but I have to admit, I'm pretty excited." He walked over to Sam and placed a hand on his head, chuckling when Sam flinched violently and tried to pull away from the brutes holding him up.

"Stop, please," he whispered, and Dean caught a glimpse of his cloudy, unfocused eyes. "Make it stop…"

"What the hell did you do to him?" Dean demanded, clenching his hands tightly at his sides.

"Me?" Azazel looked up at him. "Oh, nothing, really. We just stopped dosing him, saved you some time."

Dean stared at Sam. "You got him addicted to the demon blood, didn't you?"

Bobby sucked in a breath from Dean's left side as Azazel patted Sam's head and ignored his pleas. "Wasn't hard," he admitted with a careless shrug. "The potential's been built into his system since he was six months old. Same with the other kids, but what are the chances of them randomly ingesting demon blood?"

"You sick bastard," John bit out, and Dean could see his hands tightening on his own shotgun.

"I know, right?" Azazel said with a 'what can you do?' gesture of his hands. "Of course, this _does_ rather leave us at an impasse, does it not? You've got nothing to bargain with for Sammy's life, and you've no way of getting out of here in one piece. Those weapons of yours won't last much longer."

Dean briefly met John's eyes as he surveyed the situation. Unfortunately, Azazel was right. They were trapped, and there was no way out.

 


	12. The Deal

"Do you know," Azazel said after allowing the Winchesters and Mr. Singer to come to terms with their current predicament, "that Sam fought me every day? He had to be physically restrained for every dose of blood that he received, and he had to be forced to use his powers multiple times. Of course, you already knew about that last one," he added with a grin. "Enjoy the video and witnesses we sent you?"

Dean made an angry-sounding growl, his eyes constantly flickering between Azazel and Sam. "I thought so."

Crouching down next to Sam, Azazel looked back over at the three Hunters. "Detoxing has been a very painful experience for Sammy," he told them. "I watched him suffer through four hallucinations in addition to the other, more _classic_ symptoms of withdrawal." He pulled a small knife from his sleeve. "Would you like to see how being denied demon blood for four days makes him react now?"

"You sonuvabitch," Bobby whispered, shaking his head. "Leave him alone!"

Azazel shrugged. "Can't do that," he said before drawing the knife across the palm of his hand. "Sammy," he called out softly, "can you smell it? Smell my blood?"

Sam slowly raised his head, panting harshly as his glassy eyes slowly focused on the blood welling from the self-inflicted cut. The boy was shaking, clearly fighting his desire to lunge at Azazel's hand, but he could tell Sam was losing the battle against the addiction in his veins as his nostrils flared and he opened his mouth, leaning almost desperately toward the proffered palm that was just out of reach. He whimpered pathetically.

"SAM!" Dean shouted, and Azazel glanced back to see John and Bobby restraining the young man with sorrow etched on their haggard faces. "You bastard, let him go or I swear to God I'll kill you myself!"

"God ain't listening, kid," Azazel told Dean before moving his hand close enough for Sam to reach. "Bottoms up, Sammy," he said, watching as Sam lunged forward, sucking greedily at the blood and breathing harshly through his nose.

"NO!" Dean was practically screaming. "Let him go! Sammy!"

"Just drink, son," Azazel said softly, ignoring Dean's pleas. "That's it."

After about ten seconds, Azazel released him and stepped back, watching as Sam sagged in Derrick and Buck's hands, whimpering once more and gasping for more blood. "Let him go," he told them, and Sam all but collapsed on one side, too weak to hold himself up properly. When his eyes opened, Azazel saw they were clearer and more focused.

"Don't try anything, Sam," Azazel warned firmly, "that wasn't enough to give you back those exorcism powers of yours, just enough to make you focus on the here and now."

"Sam!" Dean shouted again. "Sammy, you all right, man?"

Azazel watched as Sam met Dean's eyes with his own very wide ones. "You came," he whispered and then the realization that his family had witnessed how addicted he was to the blood caught up with him. "Oh, God, no no no no no no —" He jerked away from Dean's gaze and met Azazel's eyes. _"Why?"_ he whispered brokenly, and Azazel couldn't help but take a moment to delight in the blood smeared over Sam's chin and mouth.

"You _knew_ they were going to do whatever it took to find you," he told Sam dispassionately. "Besides, it's not like they hadn't _heard_ about your addiction. And actually, this brings us to the way we're going to get _out_ of this impasse." Azazel turned and stared directly at John. "I name the price, and one of you three pays up."

"Price?" John asked, his eyes hard as he slowly released his hold on Dean. "What price is that?"

Azazel grinned. "You wanna tell them, Sammy, or should I?" he asked, glancing back at the youngest Winchester.

Sam's wide eyes met his and he shook his head frantically. "No, please don't, you _can't_ do this!"

"As I told you before," Azazel said calmly, "I can, Sammy. I can, and trust me, I will."

"What is your price?" John asked again, drawing Azazel's attention once more.

"One soul," he finally answered. "One soul, _in Hell_ , in exchange for Sam's safe release. _That_ is my price."

* * *

Sam dropped his head and clenched his eyes shut against the tears that threatened to start falling. He remembered that day, when Azazel had told him what he had planned for his family.

_Sam's vision is beginning to swim, and he flinches when Azazel leans closer to whisper in his ear._

" _I'm gonna take your daddy's soul straight to Hell in exchange for your ticket outta this joint," he says softly, "and then I'm gonna make sure Dean ends up in the Pit for trying to save you, too."_

_When he pulls away, it takes Sam a second to understand what the demon had just told him. "No," he whispers, "no, you can't."_

" _Oh, I can, Sammy," Azazel chuckles, standing up. "I can, and trust me, I will."_

Choking back a sob, Sam forced himself to open his eyes and look up again. "Don't do it," he pleaded aloud, "I'm not worth it, please don't…"

And then he met his father's eyes. John looked so sad, but there was a spark of determination that Sam knew all too well. "Dad, you can't!"

Dean turned to face John. "Dad, you're not _seriously_ thinking of doing this, are you?"

John sighed and looked at Dean. "We have no other options, son," he said, and Sam felt another sob well up in his throat.

And then he felt anger.

Sam knew full well that he couldn't exorcize Azazel, let alone Derrick or Buck, but maybe if he could cause enough distraction to get the four of them out of this place… It took some effort, but he managed to sit up and stay vertical, all the while listening to Dean argue with their father.

"No other options?" Dean echoed. "Dad, selling your fucking soul is _not_ an option, either!"

"We've got nothing else, Dean!" John shouted. "Look at us! We're surrounded by a dozen demons and there is _no way_ to stop them all. And Sammy, he…" Sam caught the anguish in John's eyes and felt his heart freeze at his father's next words. "Sam needs you more than he's ever needed me."

John was right, but that didn't mean Sam had to accept it. He closed his eyes and concentrated on what he wanted to do, because he was _not_ letting his father go to Hell for him. And then he _pushed_.

Sam opened his eyes just in time to see every demon go flying off their feet, Azazel included. John, Dean and Bobby were clearly startled, but Sam didn't have time for that.

_You don't just turn on family._

He focused on keeping all the demons out of the way as he staggered to his feet. "Dean," he gasped out, and his older brother instantly snapped into action, running forward and tugging one of Sam's arms over his shoulder while wrapping his own around Sam's waist.

"I gotcha, Sammy," Dean said, "but how —?"

"Blood only affects the exorcism thing," Sam managed to explain. "The rest is all me now, but I can't keep it up forever, 'm too weak…"

"Good enough for me," Dean said with a cocky grin and then they were moving. "You've lost weight, dude."

"Jerk," Sam sighed as John looped his other arm over his shoulder and their small group picked up speed.

"Bitch," Dean replied automatically.

_My vision is_ not _coming true,_ Sam thought with determination. They were going to make it out of this in one piece, they _had_ to.

And then Dean tripped and Sam's concentration slipped.

He could _feel_ Azazel's anger as the four men were ripped apart from each other. Sam slammed into the ground near Azazel's feet, while John, Bobby and Dean were forced against the nearest wall.

"That was _rude_ , Samuel," Azazel said coldly, and then Sam was screaming as his insides _churned_ unnaturally. He writhed on the ground, barely aware of the yells coming from his family. When the pain abruptly ended, he collapsed against the concrete floor, gasping for breath and unable to move.

And then _Dean_ screamed.

It was just like being back in that damn cabin all those weeks ago, only he realized it wasn't Azazel torturing his brother. It was Tara, but it looked like she was trying to do even more damage than Azazel had done that night so long ago. "NO!" Sam shouted, bucking in the invisible restraints. "DEAN!"

"Hold for a moment, Tara," Azazel called out casually after a long period of watching Tara torture Dean. Tara sighed, but complied and dropped her hand, watching glumly as Dean sagged in his bonds, barely conscious and choking in breaths. "Have you learned your lesson yet, Sammy? You can't save everyone, I already told you."

"Fuck you," Sam ground out, staring up at his tormentor, but then pain assailed his senses again and he lost track of his surroundings once more as his nerve endings fried, as his guts squirmed and spasmed against his will. His chest ached, _burned_ with pain so intense he could sense the edges of blackness trying to steal him away from the world of the conscious. After an eternity, the pain finally ebbed away and Sam couldn't stop the sobs from escaping his throat.

"It all comes down to this, John," Azazel said calmly. "Make the Deal or I kill them both here and now. It sure would be a shame to lose Sammy here, but I've still got others out there I can choose from, so it's not the biggest loss ever."

"No," Sam whispered _(this is my vision, no no no nonono)_ , "no, please no, don't do it, please —"

There was a long moment of silence as Sam met his father's eyes. He _knew_ the pain and anguish in their depths, and he knew _exactly_ what John was going to say, even though he didn't _want_ to hear it.

"I got no choice," John said softly. "Fine, Azazel. I'll make your Deal. Just give me time enough to get my boys home and make sure they're recovering."

Sam was suddenly able to move again, but he sagged back to the ground and stared up at the pleased grin on Azazel's face.

"Three days exactly," he said. "Three days, John Winchester, and then you're mine."

Suddenly, every demon vanished and Dean slumped bonelessly to the ground, unconscious. Sam struggled to sit up, but the little bit of demon blood he had ingested wasn't enough to keep up his strength or clarity and he could already feel himself sinking back into the oblivion of withdrawal. "Dean," he cried weakly as John and Bobby rushed to his brother's aid. "Dean, 'm so sorry…" He managed to curl up on one side, his aching muscles protesting as the shakes settled in once again. "So sorry…"

* * *

Bobby had never felt so helpless in his life, not since the night so many years ago when his wife had been possessed by a demon. Watching as John agreed to Azazel's Deal was, by far, one of the worst things he had ever witnessed. He almost couldn't contain his tears as he rushed to Dean's side and immediately checked for a pulse.

"He's still breathing," John whispered.

"His pulse is too weak for my liking," Bobby sighed, "but it's stable for now." And then he felt like smacking himself in the head as soft sobs reached his ears. "Sam?"

John was instantly on his feet again, skidding to halt next to Sam, who was now curled up on his side, tears streaming down his face as he muttered "sorry" over and over again, his eyes glassy and unfocused.

"He's shaking real bad," John announced, pulling a hand down one side of his face. "That little bit of demon blood didn't help him very much."

"He never should have had the damn stuff forced on him in the first place," Bobby muttered as he looked down at Dean again. "They both need a hospital, John."

"No."

Bobby turned back to John and felt his face twist in anger. "And why not? Cause you only got three days to live, ya idjt?"

"Don't start this now, Bobby," John snapped. "Dean'll make it, and so will Sam. We just need to keep them together, and that surely won't happen if we take them to a hospital." He straightened up, and Bobby saw the ex-Marine in John come to life in full force. "We're going back to Sioux Falls, and we're leaving just as soon as we get the boys in the Impala." With that, he bent down to lift Sam into his arms, and Bobby watched as Sam struggled weakly for all of two seconds before going limp.

"Dean's right," John said softly, "Sammy's lost a lot of weight, an' fast, too."

"I'll wait here with Dean," Bobby offered. "You think you can make it all the way with Sam?"

John was already nodding. "I'll bring the car closer so we can both get Dean."

Bobby nodded and watched as John walked away, cradling Sam in his arms like he probably hadn't done since before Mary died.

* * *

The drive back to Sioux Falls was arduous. John and Bobby switched off driving every eight hours so the other could try to get some sleep. During that time, Sam suffered two hallucinations, babbling away to, John thought, Azazel and John _himself_.

"I'm sorry Dad, sorry I wasn't strong enough…"

"Leave me alone, I'll _never_ lead your fucking army…"

Dean was in and out it the entire time, and when he was aware of his surroundings, his only focus was his little brother, and not the trauma his body had suffered.

"Shh, Sammy, it's okay, it's not real, I'm here, little brother…"

The litany of comforting words all but broke John's heart again. Dean had nearly driven himself crazy over worry for Sam, barely paying attention to his own needs unless reminded for the first two weeks Sam was gone. Now he was back at square one and it both pained and awed John how his oldest put aside his own pain in favor of watching over Sam.

" _Take your brother outside as fast as you can!"_

Dean had taken full responsibility for Sam after that night.

" _Lock the doors and window, close the shades, and most important —"_

" _Watch out for Sammy," Dean cuts in, looking over at his younger brother, who's watching TV. "I know."_

"I gotcha, Sammy," Dean whispered as Sam shivered in the backseat, his head cradled on Dean's lap. Dean was gently running a hand through Sam's unruly locks, and the scene was so tender John had to look away before thoughts of Mary could overtake him again.

"How you feeling, Dean?" he asked gruffly.

"Fine, sir," Dean replied without looking away from Sam.

"You lost a lot of blood, son," Bobby commented from the driver's seat. "You really should be getting some rest right now."

"I'm fine," Dean repeated. "I'm not the one goin' through withdrawal."

Sam suddenly flinched and actually tried to pull away from Dean.

"Dammit!" Dean exclaimed. "Sam, relax, I didn't mean it like that!"

"'M not a druggie," Sam slurred, and John was relieved to see his eyes were clearer, more focused.

"Of course not," Dean said in that soothing tone that only Sam ever got to have directed at him. "Druggies aren't usually forced to take drugs in the first place, Sammy."

"Never wanted it," Sam said, and John was fascinated by how his eyes focused on Dean, and Dean alone. "I didn' want all that blood down my throat, I _didn'_ …"

"I know," Dean said softly, running his hand through Sam's hair. "He said they had to force you every time."

"Not the last one," Sam whispered, and the torment in his voice tore at John's heart.

"You were going through fucking _withdrawal_ , Sam, like it or not," Dean said, his voice suddenly sharper. "Four days without any blood… I got no idea how long it's gonna take for you to detox, but I've seen druggies going through withdrawal jump at any opportunity to get their hands on their next hit." He smiled sadly. "I hate makin' the parallels, dude, but you weren't thinking clearly. All you could see was the one thing that could make you feel better, right?"

Sam closed his eyes and whispered, "I _smelled_ it, Dean. I could barely focus on anything else but that smell."

John was disturbed by the revelation, but if Dean was, too, he didn't show it in his face or his eyes. "We adding super-smell to the list now?"

Sam actually snorted and looked away, meeting John's eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered before yawning. "I tried to stop him from —"

"Shh," John cut in at once, "it's okay, Sammy, I know. You rest now, alright, son?"

Sam nodded and soon dropped off into real sleep for the first time, curled up in the backseat with one hand clutching at Dean's jacket. It reminded John of a three-year-old Sam after a nightmare. He'd always gone to Dean for comfort.

"You should try to get some rest, too, son," John told Dean quietly. "We should be there in about six hours."

Dean sighed, but nodded and made himself as comfortable as he could with Sam still attached to him. John waited until he had dropped off before saying anything else.

"You've gotta keep an eye on them after I'm gone, Bobby," he said, glancing at his friend.

"As if I'd do anything else," Bobby said with a roll of his eyes. "You lot are family, John, no matter what's happened between you an' me. When are you telling Dean?"

John sighed and looked out the passenger window. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "Soon, though."

"I wish it hadn't come to this," Bobby said.

"I know," John said with another sigh. "I do, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's one chapter remaining for this story. Thank you to everyone who's read and commented so far!


	13. More than Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small portion of dialogue in this chapter comes from episode 2.01 "In My Time Of Dying". The rest is all me.

There was really no getting around it. Dean was fucking _pissed._

"How the _hell_ could you do that?" he exploded, noting with a wave of chagrin that Sam had jolted awake on the couch.

"Dean?" he said blearily, but Dean ignored him for the moment and focused on his father, instead.

"Well?" he asked.

"Would you _calm_ down?" John snapped, forcing Dean to sit back down on the overstuffed chair next to the couch. "There was _no_ way out of it, Dean! He was going to kill you _both_ , I couldn't let that happen…" He looked away, but not before Dean caught the unshed tears gathered in his dark eyes. "You know I would do _anything_ for you boys."

"I _do_ know that," Dean said, "but making a Deal with a demon? With _Azazel?_ After everyone he's killed, and what he did to _Sam_ , to other kids like that Max Miller I told you about?"

"I'd do it again if it meant saving the both of you from dying!" John burst out, effectively silencing Dean. He noticed that Sam was sitting up now, silently watching the exchange with wide eyes and shaking hands, and he wondered if the shaking was from the lingering effects of withdrawal or the fact that he hadn't eaten nearly enough to regain his strength, but then his attention snapped back to his father when he started speaking again.

"I've put you boys in plenty of bad situations, I know," John said, "but you've always been able to save each other without any extreme harm." He closed his eyes and a tear escaped, sliding into his beard. "Not this time," he whispered. "I almost lost you."

"We know," Sam said before Dean could utter a single word. "Some plans just don't work, and some visions always come true." He looked away and Dean sat up straighter, instantly aware of what Sam wasn't saying.

"You had a vision of that day?" he asked.

Sam was silent for a long moment before nodding and rubbing at his forehead. "It was during one of my hallucinations," he admitted. "Thought I was goin' crazy."

Dean wanted to joke, wanted to end the tension and Sam's pain, but even _he_ knew when to back off. "So," he said, turning back to John, "you walk out tomorrow and Mr. Yellow-Eyes carts your soul off to Hell while we get to just… live?"

John took a deep breath before nodding. "That about sums it up," he said. "I know he's got the Colt, but there's gonna be a chance someday to get it back and kill him once and for all."

"Dad," Sam said softly, "what do you know about his plans? Did you already know what he did to me the night Mom…?"

Dean watched his father's expression as he stared down at his youngest. "Do you trust me, Sammy?" he asked, and Sam looked up.

"Yeah," he said simply, looking so much younger than his twenty-three years.

John took another breath before nodding. "I knew," he said. "There's a lot that's gonna happen in the coming months, a lot I just can't tell you."

Dean expected Sam to blow up, to demand answers they way he'd been doing since he'd hit puberty, but the kid merely closed his eyes and nodded in resignation.

"But there _will_ be a chance to get your hands on the Colt, again," John continued, looking hard at Dean. "I don't know when, exactly, but Azazel _needs_ that gun for a part of his plans. Until that day comes, though, I need you boys to watch out for each other, keep each other safe. And when the time comes, kill that bastard."

"Yes, sir," Dean said at the same time as Sam. "How will we know when it's time?" he asked after a moment.

"Trust me," John said with a small smile, "you'll know."

There was a moment of silence before Sam spoke again.

"Azazel wants both of you in Hell," he said quietly, and Dean froze.

"Why?" he asked, eyes darting between his brother and father.

Sam shrugged. "He told me he planned to make sure you both ended up there, and it'd be for _me._ " He looked up at Dean. "He didn't know he was going to throw you into the Deal with Dad until I fucked things up."

"But you knew?" Dean asked, and Sam nodded, dropping his eyes again. "Why does he want us both down there, Dad?"

John sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know for certain, son," he said, and Dean felt his anger mounting again. "That's why I want you two to watch out for each other, make sure nothing like that _ever_ happens, you got it?"

Dean wanted to yell, to demand the answers that Sam wouldn't, but when Sam nodded and gave a quiet, "Yes, sir," Dean found he didn't have to strength to do otherwise and gave a short nod in response.

There was another moment of tense silence.

"I'm sorry," Sam blurted.

"What?" Dean was startled and saw there were tears in Sam's eyes. "Why? For what?"

"Everything," Sam said, his voice breaking. "Everything I've done and said, I never shoulda let myself be influenced by a bunch of demons —"

"You didn't know," John cut in, actually sitting down next to Sam and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hell, none of us knew and we were the ones watching out for you."

"It doesn't matter!" Sam cried, looking up at John. "I never understood, I never _let_ myself understand cause all I wanted was to be _normal_." He sucked in a deep breath. "You never deserved all that anger, hell, I never understood _why_ I was so angry half the time, but it was wrong of me and it hurts and I don't know what were my own thoughts and what weren't and now you're goin' to Hell cause of me and my stupid —"

"Sam!" Dean broke in, forcing himself off the chair and kneeling in front of his brother while clutching his knees. "It's all right, me and Dad understand, we really do."

Sam closed his eyes. "That was another one of my hallucinations," he said softly. "I was arguing with _myself_ at fourteen and I finally understood what you'd been trying to teach me all this time."

"At fourteen?" Dean asked.

Sam smiled sadly. "That's how old I was when I decided I wanted to go to college, get away from the 'family business' and live a safe life away from it all. I never understood your definition of what family really means, Dean, and I know I can't ever make it up, but I'm so sorry I walked out." He chanced a glance at John before adding, "The only thing I didn't want to do was be completely cut off."

"I'm sorry I made you feel that way," John sighed, squeezing Sam's shoulder.

"I know," Sam whispered.

"And there's nothing to forgive," John added after a moment. "You're my son and I'll always be proud of you."

Sam gave a watery smile and Dean noticed the way his brother's head started bobbing slightly, how his blinking became a bit more sluggish.

"You need more rest, Sammy," he said. "It's nap time."

"I just had a nap," Sam protested weakly as John stood and they both forced the youngest Winchester to lie down again.

"Well, you need another," Dean said firmly. "Your body's been through hell, kiddo, it's gonna take time to get you back on your feet."

"Yeah," Sam sighed, closing his eyes. A few minutes later, his breathing evened out and the worry lines on his face smoothed away, leaving him looking as innocent as he had once been as a child.

If only he was still as innocent now as he had been then.

Dean carefully moved to his feet and headed into the kitchen. "I guess Bobby's not back yet," he said, taking a seat at the kitchen table as John took the seat next to him.

"You've got a heavy appetite," John said with a wry grin, "and Sam needs a lot of stuffin' up. It's gonna take him some time to gather enough groceries to last even a week."

"Shut up," Dean said good-naturedly, and they sat in comfortable silence.

"Dean," John said after some time had passed.

"Yeah, Dad?"

"I, uh…" He ran a hand down the side of his face. "You know, when you were a kid and I'd come home from a Hunt, feeling all wrecked from the things I'd seen, you'd always walk up to me, put your hand on my shoulder and tell me 'It's okay, Dad'." He met Dean's eyes and he was surprised to see tears gathering again. He wasn't sure he could take many more moments like this before John was gone. "I'm so sorry for that, Dean."

"For what?" Dean asked, bewildered. "It was always the right thing to do, Dad. Someone had to say it."

"But not you," John said, shaking his head. "I made you grow up too fast, put too damn much on your shoulders. I shoulda been saying that to _you_ , Dean, not the other way around." Another tear escaped, following the same path as the earlier one. "You took care of Sammy, and you took care of _me_. You took care of this family, and you never complained, not once. That wasn't fair of me, but you… I am so proud of you."

John looked so close to breaking down, and Dean couldn't help but ask, "This really you talkin'?"

John started laughing. "Yeah," he said, clapping Dean on the shoulder. "Yeah, it really is me."

Dean swallowed. "I get that you're gonna be gone come morning," he said, "but why this? Why now?"

John squeezed Dean's shoulder and scooted his chair closer. "I know I told you boys to watch out for each other, but I really want to you to watch out for Sammy, okay?"

"Yeah, Dad," Dean said, "you know I will." He stared at John. "Does this have something to do with Azazel's plans?" John looked away. "Dad, you're scarin' me, I'm gonna take care of Sammy, you know that."

"Don't be scared, Dean," John said, meeting his eyes again, but there was something in his gaze that made Dean feel even more scared. Then John leaned forward and whispered in his ear. "You… Dean, you have to _save_ your brother from what's coming, and if — if you can't, you might have to kill him."

Dean's heart stopped.

John pulled away, looking at Dean with that look that had always been reserved for him because he was the older brother, the reliable one who had always watched out for his baby brother and always would, no matter what happened. That look that said he was proud of him, and above all else, he _trusted_ him to carry this newest burden, and to _not_ tell Sam about it. No one else ever got that look, but for the first time, Dean didn't want John looking at him like that.

For the first time in his entire life, Dean was _scared_ , and not just for Sam. No, this time he was scared for them _both_. Just then, the front door slammed open and Bobby was calling for John to come help haul in the groceries, and John left the room, leaving Dean sitting at the kitchen table with a secret and a silent promise to not tell his brother that he might have to…

Dean had never felt so alone as he did in that moment.

Dinner that night was subdued, given that John was going to Hell in the morning, but everyone managed to talk about everything else, _anything_ else but the damn deal John had made to save his sons from certain death. Dean barely slept that night, and Sam suffered from some pretty severe nightmares.

The next morning, John walked outside alone to die. After a few minutes, Sam looked up from his position next to Dean on the couch and said quietly, "It's over." Dean didn't know how his brother knew that, exactly, but after everything they'd been through, he believed him. John was gone.

* * *

Sam and Dean allowed Bobby to help them prepare John's body to be burned, allowed him to help them erect the burial pier, but he respectfully stayed away that night as they set fire to the pier and watched their father's body become ashes. Sam couldn't stop his tears from flowing silently. Dean found he didn't know how to let them out.

"Did he…" Sam struggled with what he wanted to say. "Did he say anything else to you yesterday? When I was sleeping?"

Dean didn't look at him, his gaze still firmly attached to the blazing fire before them. Part of him wanted to tell Sam what John had told him about his little brother, but the fact of the matter was that he had promised not to say a word, if unwillingly. "No," he finally said. "Just that he was proud of me, proud of you."

Sam nodded, trusting Dean to be honest with him. His gaze returned to the flames, John's dog tags clutched in his left hand with the wedding ring that he had never once taken off for anything. _He never stopped loving Mom,_ he thought sadly, _and now he'll never avenge her._

But that was the thing, both boys now realized. This was about more than avenging Mary Winchester's death, or Jessica Moore's, or their dad's, or any of the other people Azazel had killed over the years. This was now a quest to stop Azazel's plans from coming to pass, and Sam and Dean knew they'd see things through to the end, come what may.

They stayed outside until long after the fire had burned itself out, until Sam's tears had dried, until Dean felt nothing but emptiness inside rather than the burning fear and hatred that surrounded the final secret John had bestowed upon him. It was only then that the remaining pieces of the Winchester family made their way back to the safety of Bobby Singer's home, both young men secretly praying they'd be able to put their family back together as much as possible.

* * *

Dark eyes watched from a distance, taking notice of anything that could be of import to their leader. When the younger boy lifted his head and stared right in their direction, they slunk back to an even further distance. The boy could do more than they had expected, but no matter. Those eyes would continue to watch and observe until the day of reckoning came.

And then the real fun could begin **.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this story! The next part of this 'verse is going to be a one-shot. I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did writing it!


End file.
